


Keeping Time By the Pictures

by PlasticFlowering



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Actors, Blow Jobs, Emo Youngjo, Eventual Youngjo/Seoho/Hwanwoong, Gay Dramatics, Gay Sex, Kim Youngjo is a Hopeless Romantic, Love Letters, M/M, Masturbation, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Putting the Ho in Seoho, Secret Relationship, Some Hwanwoong/Youngjo on the side, all roads lead to SeoJo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlasticFlowering/pseuds/PlasticFlowering
Summary: "I can barely manage to keep track of one secret life. Could you imagine if I added another affair?"
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Seoho
Comments: 43
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration behind this fic was a single photo of Hwanwoong looking particularly like a movie star, and it just Went from there. I intended it at first to be a Youngjo/Hwanwoong and Geonhak/Dongju fic, but everything changed when the Seojo nation attacked my heart. The ship dynamics, both initial and eventual, became a bit more complex from there.
> 
> The characters are aged up by a handful of years to allow them more plausible career growth. The story itself takes place in 1964. I did, and am still doing, my best to research what I can about the SK film industry at that time - it's fascinating but also surprisingly scant to find in-depth resources on this in English. So, that said, don't get too caught up on this being entirely historically accurate. The time period is more or less just a vehicle for the Gay Melodrama.
> 
> It took me a while to even get around to finishing the first chapter, and this being my first fic in the fandom I'm pretty insecure. So if you enjoyed, please leave me a comment or a Kudos to let me know you'd like it to keep going! <3

Youngjo braced himself, knowing the woman in the blue dress didn't want to hear his words. He kept his downcast eyes on her hand, watched the way her fingers clenched on her pocketbook. Tighter, tighter, knuckles turning white. 

"Look at me," she said harshly. Because he was a polite man, a respectful man, Youngjo couldn't couldn't help obeying. 

"Madam," he began, shocked that he didn't stammer as her eyes shot daggers into him and her lips thinned to a trembling red line, "I know you have no reason to believe me..." He lifted his hand, offering the letter he'd carried all the way from Daegu. 

"You're a liar!" She yelped, as if only confirming his statement. His head drooped in deference, but in his extended hand Youngjo still clutched the letter. "You stole my daughter!"

He felt tears rising to his eyes, remembering Sungso, and that sad, nostalgic expression as she said her mother was only misunderstood, that she loved her so much it seemed scary to some. Madam Kang meant no harm to anyone, right? Sungso told him so. But the letter… 

"She met me at the train station. I rode with her to the factory. I escorted her, that's all. I promise, I didn't--"

"Where is she? Where have you hidden her from me?"

"Madam, Sungso is gone. I didn't--"

"I'll call the police. Don't come any closer to me!" She turned to run back down the path, back into her home where Youngjo would only wait another sleepless night to talk to her. He had to know. Obsession clouded his senses, and nothing else mattered in his life. Not anymore. 

"Madam, I need you to read this letter!" He yelled, plaintive and passionate, and for the tenth time that day. This time, his voice choked on the last word, and he felt the tears crest over the barrier of his eyelashes. In his periphery, where he barely registered it anymore, a camera wheeled closer. "I need to understand what it means!" He shook his hand with mad intent, but somehow still held the letter gently, not meaning to tear or wrinkle it. It was, after all, all he had left of Sungso.

Looking up at the stunned Madam Kang, who may finally have deigned to listen, he added one last, hushed "Please," as twin tears rolled down his face. 

He held the expression, and they stared at one another for what felt like ten seconds. An uncomfortably long time to stare into someone's eyes while trying to calculate the perfect moment to blink away tears. 

Finally a voice, firm and cool, called: "Cut!" 

Immediately the mood shifted, and a flurry of noise and activity resumed all around them. Youngjo blinked hard, and let out a sigh of relief on the heels of a nervous laugh. Madam Kang's salty intensity gave way to the kind, smiling face of the Soonja he knew, and she reached forward to whack his arm playfully with her pocketbook. "I knew we could count on our 'one-more-take' Youngjo." Other than that, she did not move. 

He laughed briefly before a set assistant nudged a finger beneath his chin, directing him to look up. Youngjo stared at the rafters of the soundstage as the assistant wiped the tears from his face with even, gentle patting motions from a handkerchief, careful not to disrupt his makeup. Only when he was directed to look back down did he finally reply to Soonja. 

"Well, I'm getting impatient. Maybe being impatient makes tears easier." 

"Youngjo, Soonja - to the side, please," another set assistant said after marking their positions on the floor with lightning efficiency. They were guided to the wings of the set as the camera operator and cinematographer moved in to set up the next shot. The bustle and handling hardly fazed either of them. Making movies was like clockwork for both. Obedience and agreeability were the watchwords for success these days, though acting talent was certainly a bonus. 

"Besides," Youngjo continued after giving thought to his words, "I have to live up to your performance, don't I? It wouldn't be fair if my intensity wasn't a match for the letter-reading scene."

"Hm, true." 

At that point in the screenplay of _The Changing Face_ , Madam Kang's facade of innocence and propriety was only just beginning to break. Youngjo's character Jongnam, on the other hand, had been unfairly painted as a scoundrel. The melodrama would take the audience on an emotional ride before Madam Kang finally read the letter Sungso left behind, at last coming to terms with the fact she had suppressed and denied - that she had been directly responsible for her daughter's untimely death. 

It would be interesting to see the finished product if the editor pulled off the artistic expression of her ensuing descent into madness. If nothing else, the crew had Soonja to rely on. Her name would fill theater seats, undoubtedly, but her unrestrained performance would supply the emotion needed to pull off such an ambitious vision. 

"Wait there. I'll get you something to drink." He smiled at her before deftly maneuvering his way to retrieve a bottle for each of them. 

"That was quick," Soonja said as he returned, and accepted the bottle graciously. "You make me miss the days when my son was as polite as you." 

"When was Yeongho born?" For all he knew about his co-star, he realized that he'd never asked how old her son was even after five pictures together.

"1940." 

"What?" Youngjo checked his volume, mindful not to yell despite his surprise. "Your son is so much younger than me and already he disrespects you?"

Soonja eyed him carefully, mischievously. "You're a good boy. You must be a good husband, too." With a resolute nod, she'd said her piece.

He smiled, only moderately self-conscious, and thanked her. What else was he supposed to say? Any of the other facts about the situation would be inappropriate. It was an arranged marriage, a seon he'd accepted last year only at the repeated insistence of his mother, and only after being intrigued by his wife's unusual and confidential imperatives concerning the marriage. _"We are to have our own lives,"_ she'd told him bluntly on only their second meeting. _"I will be a respectable wife, and I will make appearances when necessary, for career and for family. Otherwise I will keep my own business, and you will keep yours. If that is not acceptable to you, do not wed me. Do not continue seeing me with the intention to wed me."_ The look in her eyes had said everything, and in that look he felt a kinship he couldn't quite express. Seonok was beautiful - achingly so, with a movie star's allure of her own - and intelligent enough that her lies were always protected by layers of plausibility. And she always informed Youngjo of when she was lying - to him, to their family. There was no ill intention in her decision to marry. Seonok would not destroy a marriage, because it was the only thing that protected her. From the consequences of what, Youngjo remained somewhat unaware. Her allure, however, grounded him in a determined state of wanting to know, and it granted him patience enough to bide his time. They felt less like husband and wife, and more like operatives in some spy mission neither had been fully informed on.

News of the young star's marriage had spread quickly throughout the industry, with the studio head alleging that it increased his draw significantly. _"Of course, you'll want to hold off on filming too many pictures. Take some time for starting a family."_

Youngjo assured the studio executives that such a hiatus would not be necessary, and within a year he was, true to all predictions, one of the most popular actors in the country. 

Yes, he was a good husband. He would give Seonok anything she asked of him, including the freedom to be something entirely her own, and entirely secret. Next to that, doting on Soonja with bottles of juice and adoring attention was nothing. 

The long day of filming continued, until finally the cast was dismissed. Emerging from the soundstage, Youngjo was surprised by how dark the sky was. Almost 8:30p.m., and another 13 hours of bright lights, costumes, multiple takes, coverage shots, sound snafus, and mostly monotony was out of the way. If the picture was delivered ahead of schedule it would be a boon to the studio, and everyone was willing, if not particularly enthusiastic, to take on the extra hours in pursuit of that goal. Once out of sight of his co-stars, he began walking across the backlot toward the commissary. He was starving, and he hoped there was still some food left from dinner. 

"Kim Youngjo!" The voice, deep and precocious, was instantly recognizable, as were the quick footfalls that followed. 

"I'll wait for you," he said, turning around. "You don't have to run." 

Dongju stopped running almost immediately. "I know." He looked only a little embarrassed as he approached with an enthusiasm that didn't quite fit with how late it was. Dongju still had a few years of carefree naivete to work through before he, too, came to treat the movies as just another job. Until then, Youngjo would do his best to keep up with him. 

"You look happy." 

"I guess I am." Dongju nodded thoughtfully. "I had a pretty good day. Director Jeon even praised me." 

"Quite a feat, that," Youngjo said.

"It is, isn't it?" Dongju wheeled around before they reached the door of the commissary, speaking sternly. "He's so mean! He doesn't think any of the set assistants know what they're doing, especially the younger ones. But he said my attentiveness was admirable, and the others could learn from me. Dongmyeong wasn't impressed. He said I was overreacting because I was happy about it." 

"Is Dongmyeong still working, too?" It seemed like a late night for everyone at Monarch Studios. 

Nodding, Dongju pushed open the door, and they entered the commissary. "He's still recording some parts for the score of your picture, actually. Very dramatic music. It's a bit much, isn't it?" 

"I mean, it is a melodrama."

The air inside the commissary was warm and heavy, still redolent with the savory smells of dinner. Of the tables arranged throughout the hall, only a few were occupied. Youngjo scanned the room covertly for friend and foe alike, only half-listening as Dongju continued to describe how he'd bickered with his brother about their respective career paths. 

Two set designers he knew only by name and reputation sat in the far corner, talking quietly, excitedly, between themselves. Nearer to the serving counter, A suited man in glasses that Youngjo didn't recognize spread himself and the newspaper in his hands the width of nearly three seats, effectively claiming a table for himself. And then, almost smack-dab in the center of the room, Youngjo noticed a familiar profile. 

He nearly called "Geonhak!" out loud to get his friend's attention, but paused at realizing two complicating points. One: Dongju didn't know Geonhak, and Geonhak could be a hard sell on new friends. Two: there was someone else at the table with him, and it was someone Youngjo had never seen before. 

Completely zoning out on whatever Dongju was telling him, Youngjo stared at the stranger sitting with Geonhak. He was obviously young, but there was an eye-catching intensity in his conversational movements - the lift of a hand here, the tilt of his head there, all matched to deliberate expressions on his face. Even from across the room, Youngjo couldn't stop watching him.

It didn't take long for Dongju to catch on that he was staring. "Youngjo." He slapped him lightly on the back. "You've been ignoring me." 

"I'm sorry. My friend's over there, I got distracted. We can go sit with him, if you don't mind."

Dongju shrugged at the prospect, far more concerned with food at that particular moment. "Whatever. Let's get some noodles. I hope all the meat isn't gone."

All the meat was, in fact, gone. They settled themselves to a dinner of carbs and vegetables, and Youngjo led the way to Geonhak's table. 

The stranger noticed his approach, and Youngjo was barely in earshot when he alerted the man next to him. "We've got company." His eye contact was unbroken, and Youngjo felt the strange compulsion to look away, a bit more flustered than he usually was in the presence of unfamiliar people. 

All at once, as he tended to do most things, Geonhak turned around, and for a moment his expression was one of annoyance - as if Youngjo had interrupted his conversation on purpose. "Aren't you wrapping pretty late?" 

Puzzled at the scold, Youngjo smiled mildly and shook his head. "You're still here too, aren't you?"

"Because I normally meet you!" Geonhak stood up and scooted his chair over to make way, taking the opportunity to gesture at him more emphatically. 

It was as far as Geonhak ever pushed his feigned indignance, so Youngjo took it well, smiling graciously and bowing in mock apology. "Forgive me." 

As soon as he realized there was someone else tailing Youngjo, however, Geonhak clammed up. He just cleared his throat and took his seat again, cutting eyes at the stranger on his left momentarily. 

Quite understandably (at least to anyone who knew him), Geonhak forgot to introduce them. Youngjo opened his mouth to introduce himself, but the stranger took the opportunity first, and his voice was confident enough that Youngjo knew he'd be foolish not to defer. 

"Hi. I'm Yeo Hwanwoong. I just signed with the studio." He stood up, bowed at the shoulders, and extended his hand politely. Youngjo accepted the handshake, and nodded his head amicably, noticing that the hand was exceptionally soft and cool, with long fingers and a light touch. "It's a pleasure to meet you." 

"I take it that my reputation precedes me." 

Yeo Hwanwoong laughed self-consciously, as if he'd been caught. "Of course it did. And I may have been waiting for you." 

"For two hours! We've been talking about all kinds of nonsense just to pass the time," Geonhak groused, and stole a stray bean sprout from Youngjo's plate before he could notice. Youngjo noticed he was avoiding eye contact with Dongju, just a moment before he realized he hadn't yet introduced his bashful friend to his other bashful friend. 

"Geonhak, Hwanwoong, this is Son Dongju. He's a set assistant who came on board this spring."

Everyone mumbled their polite greetings, but Youngjo noticed Hwanwoong studying Dongju with more scrutiny than he expected. Finally, whatever revelation he was searching for seemed to hit.

"Ah!" Hwanwoong clapped before pointing his hand at Dongju excitedly. "You're Dongmyeong's brother! The twin!" 

"Twin?" Geoinhak was interested enough to break through his shyness, and he tossed his attention between Hwanwoong and Youngjo for a few moments. "Isn't Dongmyeong the pianist?" 

"He plays more than that, but yes." Dongju said defiantly, not quite making eye contact with anyone. "He's my twin brother. For the record, I'm also a pianist."

"Dongmyeong sings, too," Hwanwoong added. "Youngjo, didn't he sing a song in one of your pictures?" 

Taken by surprise that Hwanwoong would know such a detail, being new around the studio, Youngjo took a moment to react. "That's right. Dongmyeong played a club singer in _Promises of Rain_. You must have done your homework." 

"I've been meeting everyone in turns this week. Making my way through the ranks. Plus, I have a good memory." He tapped the side of his head, and smiled charmingly. 

"You hadn't met me yet," Dongju spoke up. Again, his tone was more defiant than Youngjo expected, and his eyes widened at the tone. "I must be top rank." 

Just as unexpectedly, Geonhak laughed out loud, and clapped a couple of times. Despite it, Hwanwoong kept his cool, covering his face in brief embarrassment that Youngjo identified as mostly performative. 

"I'm sorry, when were you born?" Hwanwoong asked, obviously trying to get a bead on what amount of respect he owed Dongju. He was grinning, though, and Youngjo had to laugh at the entire interaction. 

"1939," Dongju answered dutifully. Geonhak leaned forward slightly, much more invested in the conversation when potential discord was involved. 

Hwanwoong gawped momentarily. "You're a baby!" 

"I'm not!" Dongju rolled his eyes and sighed. "No one says that about my brother, why do they say it about me?"

"Hwanwoong, you're not much older than him!" Geonhak reached over to slap Hwanwoong playfully on the shoulder, and Hwanwoong wildly overreacted, grabbing his shoulder and leaning back with an absolutely traumatized expression. Youngjo was so amused that he had to cover his face just to finish chewing what was already in his mouth, before dissolving into quiet laughter against Dongju's arm. 

"You're an actor," he pointed at Hwanwoong knowingly after a few moments, and Hwanwoong nodded. 

They held eye contact as more details came out. "Now I am. I trained as a dancer. Same skillset, in a lot of ways. You have to know when to move, how to express emotions, nuance, sensuality." 

"I suppose." Youngjo hadn't heard the comparison before, and yet it made more sense than he anticipated. He asked another question to avoid thinking too much about the implications of that. "You trained formally, then?" 

"Yes." Hwanwoong half-rolled his eyes. "Not that it seems to matter. I've been passed over for principal roles too many times to count. Mostly because of politics. Favoritism." 

"They only give principle roles to tall men." Geonhak said. Dongju snorted into his noodles before laughing brightly. This seemed to delight Geonhak to anyone who knew his micro-expressions, which Youngjo did. 

"I'm sorry!" Dongju waved his hands despite the fact that he kept laughing. "It was the delivery - he's got good comedic timing, that's all. I don't even know how tall you are!" 

Hwanwoong's slack-jawed, insulted expression had returned, and this time Youngjo laughed as well. "I'm tall enough!" He was definitely magnetic, this newcomer, and he obviously knew how to steal a scene and make it his own. 

A flutter of defensive warning coiled in his belly, which was still not especially full. He wasn't old, not by any means. He'd enter his thirties in a couple more years, and then his star would rise even more if industry trends continued. But, after only two years at Monarch Studios, Youngjo was determined to remain its pre-eminent leading man. Something about Hwanwoong made him fear that what was once locked-in job security was under fire. 

The group parted ways not long after, when Youngjo was the first to excuse himself. 

"You keep me waiting two hours and you leave just like that?" Geonhak may have sounded gruff, but he was obviously pouting.

"I'm actually hungry. I have real food at my house, so I want to go back there. Maybe have a drink, too." Youngjo rubbed his temples and lied. "Besides, it wasn't me who kept you waiting. Talk to Director Choe if you're so upset about my work hours." 

"No thank you!" Geonhak leaned back and held his hands up in acquiescence at the threat.

"He's just jealous that you get to go off to a house, while we're still staying in the dorms." Hwanwoong assessed the situation astutely. Youngjo couldn't show too much pride in this fact, knowing the deceptive niceties affording him that home life. 

At least Seonok wasn't home, being in Incheon for the second week in a row. If he went home and drowned his worries in alcohol and too much sleep between call times, there'd be no one to judge him.

Dongju gave Youngjo a devil-may-care shrug as he kept Hwanwoong and Geonhak company on their walk back to the dorms. Their meeting had gone better than expected, and in any case Dongju was unassuming enough to tag along like a barnacle, especially in the shadow of Hwanwoong's theatrics. It made Youngjo feel a little better. 

His house was only a short distance from the studio, but it was unsightly for a movie star to be seen walking to and from work, so he'd purchased cars for himself and Seonok shortly after their wedding. Hers was currently in Incheon, of course, but his was parked in the studio lot, strategically in the shade so the sun wouldn't bake the seats in the daylight. By night, it was tucked away in such darkness that he had to squint to even make out it was there. 

He was walking toward the car, lazily searching for the key on the ring in his hand, when he heard a voice call out to him. "You're lucky I like my own company, Kim Youngjo. I almost left. But I missed the last bus already. So I guess you win." 

He recognized the voice, and it made him pause in his tracks. A smile spread across his face quietly, and a warmth began to spread in his belly, something else blooming there to uncoil all the frustration and worries the previous hour had produced. 

"This is a surprise," he said, in the understatement of the century. "You're working now?" He scanned the dim profile of his car, and finally made out the figure resting languidly, familiarly, against the far side of the cab. 

"I'm always working, you know me. Right now I just happen to be working for Monarch Studios. As of yesterday." Seoho came into focus as Youngjo drew closer, and they smiled at each other over the roof of the car. "Surprise." He fluttered his fingers playfully on the roof. 

"When did you wrap up today?" 

"Ah… about an hour ago." The gulf of the car remained between them, but Youngjo was already biting his bottom lip as he adjusted to his changing mood. Seoho's appearance made too many things happen in his brain at once. All his previous feelings of being tired, being hungry, were suddenly pushed aside.

"Everyone's been waiting on me today, it seems." For Seoho, however, he actually apologized of his own volition. "Sorry it took so long. I met Geonhak to eat dinner." 

"Okay." Seoho answered simply, a certain assumption unspoken in the single word that made Youngjo fumble uncharacteristically with the key he'd managed to find. He might have blamed it on the darkness, but he knew why he suddenly struggled to accomplish even the most menial task. 

The unspoken became spoken only a few seconds later, as Youngjo finally succeeded in unlocking his own car door. "Is she home?" Seoho asked.

"Nope," Youngjo replied brightly, and slid into the driver's seat before leaning over to unlock the passenger door. 

Seoho opened the door, and with only the barest laugh of giddiness, fell into the seat. 

They said little on the short drive. Seoho kept his window down, and the warm summer air filled the interior of the car, ruffling their hair as they drove up the hill toward Youngjo's habitually too-empty house. In scraps of easy, unburdened conversation, he learned what he needed to know: that Seoho was called in for some stunt work on a new historical picture being filmed at Monarch Studios, and that he'd been staying in a hotel nearby since his arrival yesterday morning. 

They'd go back to the hotel for his things the next morning, Youngjo informed him, and Seoho just smiled, turning his face into the rush of air pouring through the window. 

"When's your call?" Seoho asked a few minutes later, toeing off his shoes in the entryway. 

"Not until 10:30, actually," 

"That's fortunate." 

Youngjo walked ahead, turning on a small lamp in the living room and the overhead bulb in the hallway. From there, he headed to the bar. It was a modern house, a new construction in the style that was trendy among the younger set with the money to afford such things, with large windows that looked down from the hill onto the river below. Youngjo didn't bother turning on a lamp near the windows, so the moonlight filtered in with an almost ethereal radiance, casting everything in dark blues and silver. 

With two glasses on top of the bar, he barely had the bottle open before he felt arms slide around his waist from behind. Instantly, the tension left him, and he rolled his head back on his shoulders, forgetting the alcohol, the house, the studio, and everything else in the entire world for a few precious moments. 

"I missed you," Seoho mumbled against the back of his neck, holding him. Youngjo managed to pour their drinks even as Seoho's fingers plucked at the buttons of his shirt, undoing two randomly. 

"I missed you, too," he replied softly, turning his face as much as he could toward the man clinging to his back. In a move that was not at all shocking. Seoho only teased him, brushing his lips close to Youngjo's before pulling away, leaving him the chance to say something else. "I've been lonely." 

"You have a wife," Seoho said, pulling back Youngjo's collar to kiss the nape of his neck beneath the hairline. "Friends. Adoring fans." Each point was another kiss. "And it's my absence that makes you lonely?" 

Slinkily, he turned in Seoho's arms and proceeded to lean back against the bar, offering one glass and sipping from the other. "I don't like hiding parts of myself, and I'm only myself around you." 

"You sure are something around me." For the first time that night, indeed for the first time in just over four weeks, they locked eyes. Becoming reacquainted with the details was quick, but they were hesitant to look away once caught up in each other. "I'm not thirsty," Seoho finally said of the drink Youngjo still held, untouched, in his hand.

"It's expensive. Please don't make me drink it myself." 

Looking mischievous, Seoho left Youngjo holding both glasses, and leaned in to claim his mouth in a kiss. Slowly he pushed those full, liquor-clung lips open with his own, and slid his tongue into Youngjo's mouth hungrily. Even after two minutes, even after Seoho had kissed him thoroughly and sucked and nipped at his bottom lip, even after Seoho's hands began to wander below his waist, Youngjo still held onto both glasses. 

"Do you really even need a drink?" Seoho whispered against his skin. 

Feeling a tiny tremor of desire rippling through him, Youngjo started to doubt his continued ability to continue holding anything that wasn't Seoho. He shook his head and fumbled back, relying on muscle memory to know where to deposit the liquor glasses on the bar, and divested himself of them just in time to see Seoho's head disappear from his line of sight as the other man fell to his knees. _"Oh my god."_

Even if anyone had seen them leave the almost-deserted studio lot together, even if anyone knew Seonok was in Incheon, no questions would be asked. To anyone else's eyes, they were friends, and had been for years, their relationship predating the Motion Picture Law. After all, Seoho needed a place to stay when he was in town - why not with Youngjo? More than the plausible deniability, it was simply the fact that it was _Lee Seoho_. If Youngjo hadn't already experienced him in every carnal way possible (though he thrilled to imagine there were even more, yet-undiscovered ways), and in the process come to know his duality, even he wouldn't have suspected a thing. Seoho was mysterious, hard-working, a bit off-putting in a peculiar way, but certainly not the sort of man to be a homewrecker. Certainly, _certainly,_ he wasn't the sort of man to be on his knees saying "I missed this," with unmistakable intention before sliding his lips over Youngjo's cock, savoring the feeling of it as much as the moan he earned for the effort.

Seoho knew his mouth would make short work of Youngjo after all the time apart, just as well as he knew it wouldn't be long before they were ready to go again. He was also determined to make Youngjo come in a different location every time they slept together, so even as he heard the soft entreaties from above - "Seoho, let's go to bed. Let's move." - he also felt the fingers combing encouragingly through his hair, heard the relief and happiness that colored Youngjo's voice, and most especially knew that he would be rewarded for his stubbornness. 

Virile as ever, Youngjo rewarded him three more times that night: once from behind, once with his mouth, and once while Seoho straddled his hips and felt every bit the star of the show. As he wicked the last desperate gasps of stamina from Youngjo, Seoho felt his own energy peak. What a beautiful face Youngjo had in these moments, he thought, with his hair in sweaty disarray and his bare chest flushed pink. What a pretty performance that no director but Seoho had ever been able to eke from him.

"You're pleased with yourself," Youngjo assessed the mood some time later, nuzzling Seoho's neck in the dark. 

"Mmm," came the silky affirmative. "I'm sleeping with a movie star, of course I'm pleased with myself." 

Sighing, Youngjo pulled him closer from behind. They'd learned well enough over the years to get the sex out of the way first, otherwise the temptation interrupted them every time. With their appetite for each other slaked, however, it was finally the time to talk to each other, catch up, exchange innuendo and sincerity alike before sleep claimed them. "You've been in more movies than I have."

"The entire point of being a stunt worker is that no one sees my face. Everyone knows your face. But the way I see that face is different. The way I hear your voice is different."

There was nothing much he could say to that. With no arguments, he let Seoho feel him nod before kissing his shoulder. 

A few moments later, he felt the small tremors of laughter moving Seoho's back, and prompted him questioningly. "Hm?" 

"No, it's nothing, I was just remembering the first time we did this." 

Embarrassed at even the mention of it, Youngjo groaned and buried his face in the pillow behind Seoho's hair, breathing his scent for a moment before realizing he couldn't get away with avoiding the topic. Not when a nostalgic giggle fit was taking place in his arms over it. "You're just trying to bring me down a few pegs. You know I was amazing tonight so you don't want me to get a big head, I know you." 

Seoho gasped theatrically and turned halfway to look back at Youngjo, who already knew what to expect. "I'm sorry," he said, in a breathy impression of the other man's voice.

It was definitely not an apology for bringing it up, but rather a dramatic recreation of the events. Indeed, the very first time he'd brought Kim Youngjo to orgasm, Seoho had earned an adorably sincere apology for his efforts. Much to Youngjo's chagrin, he knew he'd never let him forget it. 

A brief bout of playful wrestling commenced, until they'd wrestled themselves out of the sheets completely. The room was balmy, but the summer breeze through the open window provided a bit of relief even as they refused to untangle themselves from one another. 

Youngjo asked what he'd been putting off asking all evening. "How long are you here?" 

"A week, maybe two if production goes long." Though slightly contorted, Seoho was able to look at Youngjo's face as he answered. He resisted the urge to kiss him again. 

"What's the name of the picture?" 

" _The Whispering Sword_. It might change title in post-production, though. Just the working title for now." 

Youngjo lifted his fingers from Seoho's shoulder to tuck a curl of dark hair behind his ear. "That new kid is starring in that one. I met him today." 

"Yeo Hwanwoong? He's good. He wants to do his own stunts, though, that's how wet behind the ears he is. Had to explain to him why it's not a good idea."

Youngjo laughed, but his expression was tight as he did. "He might be troublesome." His voice dropped, and he angled their faces together, temple-to-temple as they both stared up at the patterns made by the criss-crossing wooden beams of the ceiling. 

"You're feeling threatened? He's still playing young tragic figures, fresh-faced roles. That's not even your niche anymore. You're a full-fledged leading man now." 

"I know," Youngjo replied dimly, feeling the weight of drowsiness beginning to pull him under. "Thanks. Something just struck me about him, when we met. First impressions can't be trusted sometimes." 

Seoho mumbled, "I hope that doesn't mean he's a threat to me, for your attention."

"I thought you weren't the jealous type." Nevertheless, Youngjo smiled to consider it. Despite wanting to avoid any potential emotional turmoil, it was nice to have someone in his life feel even a bit possessive over his affection. 

"I'm not. I can't be, not when it's a secret. Could you imagine? It would eat me alive." 

"And that's exactly the reason he's not a threat. I can barely manage to keep track of one secret life. Could you imagine if I added another affair?" 

"If you wanted that thrill, I could always get more reckless." 

"You're already pretty reckless, showing up unexpectedly." 

"It's romantic! You like it!" Seoho laughed, and Youngjo conceded silently that he did. "Besides, I'm discreet." He paused, and his tone got deeply serious, all trace of smile gone from his vocal color. "No one's going to know." 

For what was surely the hundredth, the thousandth time, Youngjo wanted to mumble "I love you," in response to that. He wanted to hear it in kind. He wanted to put some badge on their affair to legitimize it, even in the secrecy of their own quiet little world. 

But they'd agreed long ago, those words would be the beginning of the end. It was an unsustainable thing to entertain, to declare, to believe. But month after month, reunion after reunion, over a year into a marriage of convenience enacted almost entirely in the service of his secret life, Youngjo regretted that agreement. There was so much love he wanted to speak. 

All he replied with was, "Yeah." 

"Goodnight, Youngjo." 

"Goodnight." It sounded woefully incomplete.


	2. Chapter 2

He couldn't find Seoho in the morning. For a few bleary moments, Youngjo considered that it might have all been a beautiful dream, and all he'd actually done last night was drink most of a bottle of alcohol by himself. That wouldn't explain the fact that he'd fallen asleep naked, however; Seoho's presence in his house would. 

As he sat up, the memories came into focus and he smiled sadly to think that Seoho may have left on his own much earlier. It would be his style, after all, to simply slip his shoes back on and walk all the way back to the hotel before catching the bus to work, if the thought crossed his mind. Not particularly because he wanted to avoid being a burden, but simply because the whim struck him. 

The shower was not running. There was no noise from the kitchen. Yet when Youngjo emerged from his bedroom, still mostly unclothed but in a better humor than he tended to be before 8:00am, he noted that Seoho's shoes remained lined up neatly in the entryway. 

Still fidgety as he entered the kitchen, he considered that the smell of breakfast cooking might bring Seoho out of whatever hiding place he'd found. Most mornings, however, he'd been eating at the studio commissary, and as a result the pantry was nearly empty. Only one egg was left in the basket, and Youngjo was dubious about how long it had been there. Scolding himself that he'd put off going to the market for so long, he made a mental note to do so that evening, if filming wrapped early enough. Otherwise, he'd have to send an assistant. Maybe Dongju would do it for him. Considering the logistics of tending to his own domestic life started to eat at his previous good mood, and he turned away from the kitchen counter with a sad expression. 

The first thing he noticed upon turning around was that the door to the back porch was slightly open, and he suddenly knew where his bedmate had gotten off to so early. As Youngjo's smile returned, he walked over to the door and slid it open. 

"Found you," he said softly as he poked his head out. Seoho smiled where he lay sprawled across the back porch, one leg dangling over the edge of the wooden planks, wearing his underwear and a mostly-unbuttoned shirt that Youngjo recognized as his. He would have reprimanded him for the shamelessness, but they were contrasting images of one another in that moment, with Youngjo wearing only the wrinkled trousers he'd discarded in the hallway the night before. For not the first time, but for one of the most pleasing reasons, he was grateful for the privacy of his modest plot of land and high fences around it. 

"I've been found," Seoho said in a drowsy monotone, still smiling. "You win." He held his arms out as if expecting an embrace.

"What do I win?"

"Hmm…" Seoho thought about it as Youngjo stepped over to take a seat on the edge of the porch next to him. "Me." 

"Good prize. Unfortunately, I can't claim it right now. I need to start getting ready." Despite the privacy, Youngjo was still disinclined to kiss Seoho anywhere but behind closed doors. 

"You do." Seoho reached up to trace his fingers over Youngjo's bare back, subtly disappointed by the answer. "Tonight, though?" 

"Of course." They had to make the most of the time they had together, after all. 

They shared a few moments of silence. Seoho rubbed his hand up and down Youngjo's back slowly, carefully feeling the bumps of his spine, and Youngjo stared out at the mid-morning sky, the trees moving with the breeze, the river in the near distance. After toiling in his thoughts for a moment, he sighed. "Can you promise not to laugh if I ask you something?"

With the question, he turned to look at Seoho. Seoho, who delighted in the way Youngjo looked at him like he was the only thing in the world that could hold his attention, more interesting even than the summer sky and the Namhan River. 

"No." He answered truthfully.

"Can you promise to try?" 

"I can try. I promise." 

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" 

"What, like, eating at a restaurant together? Sure. We've done that before." A beat. "Why would I laugh at that?"

"No, not like eating at a restaurant. I mean I want to cook you a meal. I want to have dinner here, with you. I want to do something romantic for you, I want it to be a romantic dinner." A pause. "And I don't want you to reject me because you think it would ruin things."

"It's cliche, though, isn't it? Aren't you thinking of things rather narrowly?" 

Unsure whether Seoho's pursuit of the concept was a rejection or a tacit agreement, Youngjo was too flummoxed to answer directly. "What…? I don't…" 

Seoho sighed, and sat up finally. The collar of the borrowed shirt fell open across one shoulder, and he resisted the urge to tug it back into place. "I'm not with you because I want or expect to be courted like a girl you met in college."

Knowing full well that his stare had a tendency to turn their conversations to his favor, Youngjo would not break eye contact as he replied. "So what are you saying? Why _are_ you with me?" 

The defiance in Seoho's tone was slight, but present. "Because I like you already." 

Eye contact broken, Youngjo glanced down at their hands. "It's not just about sex?" 

The length of the pause before Seoho answered made his heart beat faster. "We're in an unfortunate position. You know that," he began with an unusually serious tone, also staring down at their hands as he spoke. "It would seem disingenuous if I said it wasn't all about sex, wouldn't it? Because what else can we do? Move in together? Have the same friends, go out drinking? I can't watch the sort of pictures you star in and imagine myself in the place of those girls. I'm with you because I want to be. Not because of what you could offer me as a husband or anything, not because you're famous or wealthy. I mean, I met you before you were any of those things, and I still liked you. And when you talk about things like romantic dinners, I suppose that doesn't strike me as necessary." He paused, but Youngjo was not prepared with anything to say. Something about the way Seoho was speaking begged his rapt attention, and so he just waited for him to keep talking. "I always think of gestures like that as performative, anyway. Like it's for other people to see or hear about, you know? People proving their relationship is real, somehow, by completing these rituals. And since no one else sees us, well, it doesn't make sense. I do think about you romantically, of course I do. But I feel it in different ways. Your romance is different from mine. Like when I said last night that I see and hear you differently than people who know you from the movies. That's the sort of thing that makes me feel romantic, precisely because no one can see it, or know it. It's just hard to express that to you. You know?" 

Youngjo nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"And that isn't to say it _isn't_ about sex. A lot of it is about the romantic things that surround the sex. Like when you pulled me back into your arms last night and just," he made the gesture of wrapping his arms around someone else, "held on, while you were still inside of me, and I could feel your heartbeat against my back. That was nice. I felt like you really wanted to hold on to me. And even now, trying to imagine that moment with someone else I was attracted to but didn't have romantic feelings for… it's impossible. I wouldn't want it. What I feel… hm… it doesn't really have words I can attach to it."

Seoho was not that much younger than him, but occasionally he offered wisdom beyond his years. 

"That's my problem, I guess. I really enjoy attaching words to things." 

"Yeah. You do that too much, Youngjo. I get it, though. I get what you're saying, and it's a good thing. You should know I only think good things about you, most of the time. Except when you annoy me. You're handsome and hard-working and you treat me well. We get along. That is, we tolerate each other." 

Youngjo laughed at that, and thought about how long it had taken him to get used to Seoho's way of saying certain things - before they'd ever brushed hands, before they started to catch one another staring, before they kissed. At first, he'd chalked it up to social awkwardness, three years ago when they'd first crossed paths on set in the countryside. It had been a largely unregulated production, and in productions like that, before the renegade studios were consolidated and shut down following the Motion Picture Law, Seoho made his name as the sort of daredevil who would try anything. An always-smiling actor turned stuntman who gravitated toward Youngjo, and never turned down his company when the would-be leading man had trouble finding anyone else to enjoy a few quiet moments with during the hectic days. Youngjo had never pressed for more; only company, only someone to share the time with. Something about Seoho's occupation and tendency to run headlong at the impossible certainly helped Youngjo to never quite see him as rude. He was curt, and he would oftentimes obfuscate what he really meant using humor. But if Youngjo looked at the shape of those contortions, it was usually easy to see the truth Seoho was bending around. The outline of it, at least. 

He saw a particular outline in the words he heard today, and only hoped it wasn't foolish hope. 

Seoho never held Youngjo's eyes for long when he saw a certain sparkle in them: the dreamy glimmer of him being a breath away from saying something they both might regret. Today, though, when he avoided eye contact he squeezed Youngjo's hand almost fiercely, letting the moment speak for itself. 

"I won't subject you to a romantic dinner," Youngjo said sweetly, a smile still on his face. 

"If you want romantic, I know what I'd do." Seoho said, irrepressibly infatuated with the young man sitting there in front of him, even knowing better. "Next time I show up I'll show up right at your door. With flowers." He paused. "I'll wait for a day it's raining, so I can be even more maudlin about it. Just like in _Promises of Rain_." Another pause. "Then: blowjob." 

Laughing again, Youngjo fell back and landed halfway on top of Seoho, fondness dripping from every inch of his face, still holding on to that hand. "Not if Seonok is home, you can't." 

"Then I'll shift my story quickly!" He cried, gesturing strongly, caught up in the imagined scenario. "If she answers the door, I'll pretend I've showed up to confess to her!"

"A man she's never met?"

"Ah, but you and I are still friends, you see. I've admired her from afar, and you're incensed at my betrayal! So we fight in the rain." His face lit up with sudden inspiration, sudden passion. "Oh! And then I kill you!" 

"What!?"

He waved his hands, eager to explain himself. "I don't really kill you, but I pretend to kill you, then I go on the lam! In reality, you run away with me and we live in the countryside together." 

Somehow, it was actually the most romantic thing Seoho had ever said to him, even under the cover of a joke. "You should write for the movies."

"Ah, maybe I should." 

For just a couple of minutes, Youngjo entertained the fantasy of running away from it all, living in the countryside, maybe starting a small farm or raising animals. The lifestyle wouldn't suit him, and he had no idea whether he would be domestically compatible with Seoho, but it was a lovely daydream as he leaned his head against the warmth of Seoho's stomach. 

At last, he mumbled, "You need to get ready. I'll drive you back to the hotel." Pushing up on one elbow, he slapped Seoho lightly on the thigh. 

In a flurry of deft movements, Seoho sprang to his feet. "Let me keep this shirt. It smells like you. I like it."

Youngjo eyed him critically. "It's a little small on you." 

"Hm…?" He looked down, and made to fasten the several buttons still left undone. "Only through the chest. I'll wear it open up here, like a real tough guy. A tough guy who wants to be able to smell the prettiest man in the world on him at any time." He laughed after saying it, and Youngjo knew he was purposefully trying to be as cheesy as possible. Despite it, he felt the sincerity, and again saw the outline of the words Seoho wasn't quite saying. 

Shaking his head, he chuckled. "Fine, keep it. What's your call, anyway?" 

"Three!" He said happily, and held up the fingers to match, his eyes narrowing in their characteristic way as he smiled widely. 

"I'll swing by the set." 

\-- 

_The Whispering Sword_ changed titles four days later, it turned out, at least if the hand-altereed signs on the soundstage door were to be believed. According to those, it was now titled _The General's Final Words_ , which Youngjo regarded with a considerate hum before pushing the door open. It was a more impactful title, surely, especially for what was supposedly a battle-heavy epic. 

He nodded in quiet, cheerful greeting at the staff who milled around the outer wings of the soundstage, adding a small wave for those he recognized personally. A boom operator who had been working on _The Changing Face_ as recently as yesterday approached him while the massive set was redressed between shots. "Back again?" 

He'd dropped by the set every day that week, on breaks and after wrapping. It wasn't a particularly unusual habit for Youngjo - he peeked in on the pictures Geonhak was filming quite often, or visited Dongju on set. Still, his heart seized briefly to consider that he'd been found out, and he scolded himself for being so flagrant. 

Then, the boom operator continued. "Come to check out the competition?" 

He nearly laughed, it was such a perfect excuse. Indeed, he'd also been sizing up Hwanwoong during the visits. Nevertheless, he was too kind to be seen as jealous, and so he only waved his hands in denial. "No, no, it's not like that. He's new, so I'm interested in seeing his style. He's good, he's very good." 

"He's also behind you." 

Youngjo turned around with a stunned smile to find Hwanwoong, still in full costume, face and hair smeared with dirt and blood from the battle scenes filming that day. "Thank you for the compliment," he bowed, and gave Youngjo a sparkling smile after. 

"I hadn't seen any of your films before, so I didn't have much frame of reference, but your talent means you'll fit in around here." 

Hwanwoong fluttered his fingers beneath his chin, striking a handsome pose. 

"My picture's wrapping tomorrow, if all goes well," Youngjo went on. 

"Ah, congratulations. That's ahead of schedule, isn't it?" They wandered back toward the wall, as far from prying eyes and ears as they could go, to continue to conversation. 

"By almost a week, yes." 

"Admirable. You're setting a good example for me." 

"Well, my last picture was two weeks late, so don't give me too much credit." 

"On the contrary, I've heard that you're incredibly efficient. "One-more-take" Kim Youngjo, who takes direction perfectly, and moves productions along without being disagreeable. I'll try to be like you." 

It did strike him that Hwanwoong wasn't the sort to take direction without some friction. "The studio values efficiency, it's true." 

Sensing that the conversation was becoming mind-numbingly polite, Hwanwoong shifted gears. "Is your next script lined up?" 

An interesting topic, which drew Youngjo's eyes away from the set, where he noted that Seoho was being fitted for shooting. "Almost. I have a meeting later today to discuss _The Gentleman in Spring_ with Director Jeon."

"I have that same meeting tomorrow," Hwanwoong replied slyly, and almost too quickly. 

Youngjo lifted his eyebrows, and couldn't help regarding the reckless advertisement of their budding rivalry with some degree of fondness. There were two male leads in _The Gentleman in Spring_ , after all, and he'd be presumptuous to assume Hwanwoong was gunning for the same role he was. "Is that so?" 

"It is. I think I'm well suited to the role of Ilseung." He paused, and read Youngjo's expression. "That's the role you also want, isn't it? I'm sorry to make such trouble right away." 

"You do suit the role," Youngjo replied, mustering up some brightness and considering what it would mean to play Ilseung's foil, the conniving Sangcheol. Maybe it would be seen as a shift in the tone of his career - to send up the signal that Kim Youngjo could also play a villain would be a powerful move by Monarch Studios. 

He pulled himself out of the momentary reverie, realizing the decision hadn't even been made yet. Hwanwoong was in the middle of making a point that went mostly unheard by Youngjo, who let his eyes wander to fix almost instinctively on Seoho's figure, far across the cavernous room. 

"I thought you were married, hyung." 

Blinking quickly, Youngjo looked back at Hwanwoong with a warm smile he knew was too tight to be believed. "What? I am. What is that supposed to mean?"

Making sure that he had Youngjo's attention, Hwanwoong moved his eyes pointedly toward the set. "It's not difficult to tell where Lee Seoho is at any given moment. I just follow your eyes." 

Youngjo's chest thundered as Hwanwoong's gaze moved back to fix on him, knowingly. 

"What are you trying to do, here?" He attempted to sound tough. But even with his acting talent, it was woefully inadequate. 

"Get a rise out of you."

"Why?" He felt like Hwanwoong sensed his fear, that he could hear the way his heart rate quickened at the confrontation.

"This last week I thought you were dropping by set to see _me_." 

"I was. Incidentally." 

"Spare me." Hwanwoong rolled his eyes and almost walked off, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment. He turned on heel and wound up closer to Youngjo, close enough to whisper _sotto_. "I could tell from a mile away, the very night I met you, that you like men. It's not hard to notice when you know what to look for. Maybe you just look at everything the way you look at Seoho when you think no one else is watching you. But I doubt it." 

"I'll ask you politely to be discreet." His eyes darted around, making sure they remained well removed from any eavesdroppers. "Or do you intend to blackmail me?" Though Youngjo didn't know the persons involved directly, he'd heard tell of such scandals intervening with careers in their industry. It was, indeed, one of his most prominent fears. 

Hwanwoong tilted his head dramatically, waiting to see if realization dawned in Youngjo's eyes. "Kim Youngjo… I seduced a producer's son so he'd influence his father to hire me at this studio. Not my proudest moment, but definitely a step up from going nowhere. I'm not about to endanger anyone else's secrets when I have so many of my own." 

The tone wasn't accusatory. It was not exasperated. Rather, as Youngjo recovered from the reeling shock of what was happening, he realized there was honey on Hwanwoong's words. It was brazen, certainly, but it was also the sort of bold flirtation Youngjo had never experienced before. In spite of himself and any propriety he had, it excited him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins to match the blood that was already pumping faster. 

"I was going to tell you you'll get farther at Monarch by being more respectful of your elders, but I guess we're beyond that now. I'm still unsure of your angle." Figuring that it was pointless to hide it any longer, Youngjo took comfort in searching for Seoho in the distance, and finding him. Looking at Hwanwoong was too much for the moment. 

"Well, frankly, I'm jealous. Because if I'm going to be at a studio with someone else who's on the same team, so to speak, I don't like the competition." 

He wondered what to tell Hwanwoong first. That he was flattered? Perhaps, but it might set the wrong precedent. That he didn't intend to split his affection, as Seoho had already claimed it entirely? Possibly a better option, though Seoho would have called it a bit maudlin. At the same time, he wondered whether to say anything at all. The forwardness was still disorienting him somewhat. 

Quiet was called, giving him more time to think about it. Both men were silent as they kept watch, and the carefully choreographed battle scene played out in front of them. Noting the costume, it finally dawned on Youngjo that Seoho was filming the stuntwork for Hwanwoong's character. He bit back a laugh at the realization, and watched with fascination as Seoho was flung about in the staged melee, genuinely appearing to be brutalized. 

It only took a couple of minutes. "Cut!" 

Noise and activity resumed on set, and Hwanwoong smiled up at Youngjo. "I can't blame you, though. It seems we both have good taste in roles and in men. He is attractive, isn't he?" 

_Oh._

"Yeah," Youngjo replied, too stunned to say anything else. Of course. Why would Hwanwoong have been attracted to his rival, when he could instead hang his intentions on the stunt double who shadowed his steps and kept him company on set? 

"Haven't gotten a read on him, yet. He's a bit odd." 

"Is he?" Youngjo feigned ignorance over what was, honestly, a universally held sentiment. 

"It's like he delights in being obtuse, but he always plays it off. I don't think I'd offend him if I made a move, but I also have no idea whether he'd retaliate."

"Hm," Youngjo didn't answer, and tried not to smile too much at the idea of Seoho's reaction to such an overture. If it was anything like Youngjo's confession, Hwanwoong would need time to recover. "I'm sorry, this is… " He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're the first person I've ever talked like this with. I don't like doing it out in the open." 

Hwanwoong shrugged, then swept his eyes up and down Youngjo's body quickly. "We can take this elsewhere. Would you like to see my dorm?" 

Tense for only a moment, Youngjo realized that his earlier suspicion had perhaps not been incorrect. Despite it, an empathetic sixth sense told him not to judge such things too quickly. "I thought you had your eyes on Seoho." 

"It's quite the visually appealing studio around here. I have my eyes on a lot, right now."

Hwanwoong shrugged one shoulder, and Youngjo felt a good deal of his anxiety dissipate. A feeling washed over him that he'd felt before, needling parts of him that were usually dormant, in need of someone else's initiative to be awakened. 

It was the same feeling he'd had when he spoke to Seonok during their first few dates, but also something else. It was kinship. Understanding. 

He declined the invitation to Hwanwoong's dorm, understanding that it had been meant in jest anyway, but asked to be kept abreast of developments. "If we're both cast in _The Gentleman in Spring_ , I'd like to get to know you better." He said. 

"How about we get to know each other better regardless?" 

"I'd like that," Youngjo replied, no longer as threatened by Hwanwoong's charm and charisma as he was interested in it. He wanted to hear his stories, and he wanted to share his own. 

A friend who knew his secrets. It was a thing he hadn't considered before, not beyond Seoho. The secrets had always been self-contained, part of their own world. Things felt a bit larger as he walked back to his car and tipped the seat back to take a nap, knowing after just a short while on set that the filming evening for _The General's Final Words_ would likely run long. 

He waited to tell Seoho. It was exhilarating to hold it close to his chest, to have something to spring on him, adding the excitement of a revelation to the scene even after they'd already fucked themselves breathless back at Youngjo's home. 

Seoho was still recovering from his latest orgasm, in fact, when he decided to break the news. Kissing a line up his stomach and chest, the salt of sweat chasing the taste of come, Youngjo smirked and paused to listen to his gasps, the small raspy moans chasing each deep breath. An intoxicating sound, and adorable in its own way. Before pressing their lips together, he said: "Yeo Hwanwoong wants to fuck you." 

"I know," Seoho responded breathlessly, unexpectedly.

Youngjo grinned mischievously, and they kissed with a fire he hadn't felt in months. Seoho's fingers clawed at the back of his neck and up into his hair as he moaned into his mouth. Breaking away, Seoho confessed: "He's not subtle, is he? You were right, he might be troublesome." 

"He's just young," Youngjo kissed the line of Seoho's jaw and traced his ear with his nose, breathing gently there in a way that he knew sent shivers up the other man's spine. Seoho was too tender to deal with such stimulation in that moment, and the way he groaned confirmed it. "I feel like he wants to be seen, by other people like him." 

"You're being insightful tonight."

"I've been very amused, thinking about it this evening. Not everyone is a riddle like you are. I think his intention is fairly plain." 

"Are you jealous? That all the boys like me?" The way his nose scrunched when he smiled was beautiful. The way the sweat made the natural curls in his hair fall haphazardly around his face was beautiful. Everything about him in that moment, Youngjo couldn't help taking in and finding incomparable. 

"Why would I be jealous? You're in bed with me, aren't you?" 

"It would appear so." Seoho paused, and took the conversation in a direction Youngjo didn't anticipate. "Maybe I'll ask to work on _The Gentleman in Spring_ , too. Get an apartment here, maybe stay for the autumn after that. I don't feel like going back home." He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "I want to stay with you." 

"I want that, too," Youngjo said, his voice small, knowing Seonok would be home within the next couple of days. The tension in his heart rose again, even as he kissed the back of Seoho's hand in an effort to hold on to the tender moment. "For now let's just pretend. Like nothing will change. Like this is forever." 

They were quiet, then. Youngjo heard the crickets making a racket outside the window, and the leaves rustling as the breeze picked up momentarily. Whatever role he got in his next movie, whatever Hwanwoong had to say about it, and whatever happened with the strange infatuation triangle they'd found themselves in, it all melted away to a perfect moment of nothing being quite real, everything being in motion around them, with their two souls the only still things. 

As if reading his mind, Seoho remarked, "This, right now. This is romantic."

"It is." He read between the lines, squeezed Seoho's hand tighter, and kissed him lazily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who supported the first chapter! I feel a lot less nervous to keep posting, now. I hope you enjoy this as well! The next chapter will involve more lead-up to the Geonhak/Dongju aspect of the story, as well as some more development of Hwanwoong's character.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! All Youngjo! 
> 
> When I planned things out, I wanted this chapter to include the introduction of the Geonhak/Dongju subplot, but then I started writing the actual chapter and it got much longer than I anticipated. So now I'm wondering whether I want to break off the Geonhak/Dongju thread into its own story within this AU. Maybe that's what I'll do. The tags have been landscaped to reflect that. Sorry, everyone looking forward to it, but this story got so robust I don't anticipate being able to carry emotional momentum with two intersecting stories. 
> 
> All that said... (deep breath) it's backstory time. I had a ball writing this, so I hope you like reading it. 
> 
> There are song/lyric references both blatant and subtle sprinkled throughout. So if you wonder "hey was that on purpose?" at any point: yes it almost certainly was.

"Every night, sacrificing the sort of life you took for granted, I put in the work you didn't. I learned names, schedules, schematics, the cause and effect of every facet of this business. Every night I would stay up and pore over the facts until no questions were left. And still, Kim Ilseung, my friend, you claim I am the one who doesn't deserve this?" 

Youngjo grinned and lifted his hands. At first he meant to give silent applause to Hwanwoong's stellar line reading, but instead he clutched his own chest, making a pained expression out of the grin, feeling absolutely gutted by the emotion in those words. It was encouraging, to say the least, how well the casting decision for _The Gentleman in Spring_ had turned out.

"Bravo. I like how you took it in a desperate direction this time."

"I think it's more truthful that way," Hwanwoong explained. "I mean, they've been friends since they were children. They should be all they have left for each other, but Ilseung is too committed to his own pride." A few moments later, he added, "I hope Director Jeon agrees with me."

Youngjo nodded at the script in his hands, which was marked and dog-eared to hell and back after only a couple of weeks in his possession. Ilseung was in nearly every scene, and free from the distraction of another job until filming began, Youngjo had been pouring his heart into learning the character inside and out. 

That included, it turned out, many evenings spent in Yeo Hwanwoong's dorm room. He often took the plain wooden chair at the desk, facing the bed where Hwanwoong usually sat cross-legged, script spread open in front of him and a little notebook with jotted thoughts and reminders always at the ready. The old electric fan kept time like a noisy metronome as it oscillated with squeaky effort between them, blowing the plain white curtains on the far side of the room. 

"For what it's worth, I agree with you," Youngjo said. 

"Good."

"Whether or not the director wants you to play Sancheol that way, I figure we can still play their friendship that way."

Hwanwoong gave a wan smile as he flipped through the next few pages. "The more I read this script, the more I sympathize with Sancheol. I'm glad I was cast as him, actually." 

For both of them, their appreciation for the script had deepened considerably after a few readings. Sancheol was no longer simply a two-dimensional, backstabbing opportunist, and Ilseung was certainly not an innocent bystander. Both were victims of circumstance, of war and devastation and derailment, and that their friendship did not survive the turmoil was the biggest tragedy of the film, not Ilseung's slow unraveling and misfortune. 

They were beginning to understand one another, as well, on levels beyond their unexpected similarities. They were fortunate in their differences, in fact: Youngjo's disinclination to confrontation only made Hwanwoong study his quiet tells more closely. Hwanwoong, who was well-equipped to gauge people, and to respond to their needs in order to get what he wanted. What he wanted, he discovered after only a few weeks in Youngjo's presence, was to be his peer. Not a threat, not a rival, and certainly not an upstart bent on making his professional career miserable.

"Friends" seemed too simple a way to put it. He wanted to be friends, yes, but somehow there was a weight to that camaraderie he hadn't anticipated. The fact that he was attracted to so many of the men at Monarch Studios, Kim Youngjo included, seemed to complicate Hwanwoong's social dealings. But over script readings and private chats and deep discussions about character motivation that stretched into the nights, he was charmed to learn one thing above all else: Youngjo was almost pitifully in love with Lee Seoho. "You're a tragic figure, aren't you?" He'd said to him one night, and there had been bashful agreement in Youngjo's eyes despite the fact that he changed the subject quickly. 

He was born to be a tragic figure. A beautiful face and lovelorn eyes; a leading man for the melancholy, male and female alike. There was plenty of melancholy going around, and a character like Ilseung would speak to the emotionally displaced. The casting was inspired, and the film was something Monarch Studios could hang its future on, if all involved managed things well. 

Youngjo could make the character sympathetic - Hwanwoong could not have. He was dedicated to his craft, he was funny and take-charge, and Youngjo saw him as a man of powerful determination and maturity beyond his years. A character like Ilseung would not carry himself with the confidence that Hwanwoong brought to every one of his roles - something in his eyes would have always suggested a fire that was alight within, a conviction to claw up out of misfortune. 

Their discussion of the characters continued, and Youngjo mentioned, "I do think Sancheol's biggest moment of weakness was taking Chungja in."

"Ahhh. I've wanted to talk about that since you mentioned it a couple of days ago. Do you agree he stole her from Ilseung?" 

They referred to Ilseung's wife, the third largest speaking role in the picture. She would leave Ilseung at the end of the second act, after Ilseung's misfortune and self-pity drove her away.

Youngjo turned the implication of that over in his head. "Based on what we know, we're meant to think he did. But Chungja has her own agency, and if I give the characters more life than we're explicitly told, I can imagine that she went to Sancheol confused and afraid of the man her husband was becoming, while she was vulnerable and without a family to rely on. He took advantage of the situation, absolutely. She went to him thinking he was an old friend."

"He took her in because he'd always been in love with her." 

Youngjo's chin tilted up, and he paused thoughtfully. Hwanwoong raised his eyebrows and waited for the other man to speak. "What is it to win someone's love at their darkest hour, when you have power over them like that? I think he's a scoundrel for what he did to Chungja, in general. Not because he stole her or anything. I don't feel like a real love bloomed between them. I think that's why Chungja refuses to look at Ilseung in the last scene. Because she still loves him, but she knows she has to take care of herself."

"You really do have the heart of a poet, don't you, hyung?" 

"I'm a romantic, if that's what you mean." 

Hwanwoong's lips crooked into a smile, and just as quickly he looked back down at his script. "I'd noticed that as well." 

His expression didn't escape Youngjo's notice. "What's that? What's that tone of voice?" 

"I want to know about how you met Seoho. I want to know how you wound up together. He's a hard nut to crack. Was it your romantic soul that swayed him?" 

Youngjo laughed under his breath. "I highly doubt it. Very little sways Seoho."

"So tell me about it. What was it, then?"

He sighed, smiling, knowing he couldn't get away without finally waxing nostalgic on their past, and also knowing he couldn't possibly do so without being a little overwrought about it. "You say I have the soul of a poet, and that's funny to me. Because I have written poems about this. About him, about that summer. Privately, for myself."

Hwanwoong leaned over his crossed legs, chin resting on one palm, and grinned. "I'm not surprised." 

"But to talk about it plainly…" One hand still in the air, mid-gesture, he waited for the right words to catch up. "It might make me sound like I'm embellishing, is what I'm trying to say. I promise I'm not." 

"My only criticism of that possibility is that I don't have dinner and a drink to enjoy along with the show, then." 

"And also," Youngjo said sternly (as sternly as he could manage), holding up an authoritative finger, "This is between us." 

"Again, I won't give away your secrets if you don't give away mine." 

Youngjo pointed that finger fiercely. "Not even to others… you know… others like us. Of which we know a surprising many." That he knew more than one had been a shocking development. 

"I promise you. Now talk!" 

He began to tell the tale, setting the scene as Hwanwoong settled into the corner, hugging a pillow to his stomach. He and Seoho had been part of a picture together, three years ago, before either had made a name for himself. It wasn't a studio picture, really. It was more of a ragtag group of people who made movies together, when everyone with a camera and a story to tell wanted to get in on the action. Youngjo and Seoho, both old friends of the director, had converged on the shooting location from their hometowns on different sides of the country. Their first meeting was on set, where Youngjo was trying to seem cool and Seoho was trying to figure out if he even wanted to be there. 

"Seoho was still trying to act in those days. He's not bad, but he has trouble letting go of his self-consciousness. Losing himself in the performance was difficult for him. So we met, and our friend the director told me 'Youngjo, work with Seoho.' To run lines together, that sort of thing, in preparation. Seoho had the look, I suppose, that they really wanted. I was in a supporting role, and Seoho was the male lead. I just wanted to be noticed. Of course, I agreed."

He continued, "It was the peak of a very hot summer, in the countryside where they were filming on location, and it was mostly a disaster. But it was a learning experience. More than anything, Seoho and I became inseparable over the weeks. We'd run off and work on his line readings together, sure, but we'd also run off and explore the woods, the abandoned buildings, the river. A whole small town had been flooded about two decades before, and the only factory buildings were shut down during the war, so things were eerie in places, but the forest was beginning to reclaim the buildings. That made it beautiful." 

Then, he went on to explain, production had been delayed. Snafus with permits and equipment turned the six week production into a longer ordeal, and Seoho and Youngjo had decided to stay, treating the entire experience as an isolated summer camp, a retreat from their respective cities and lives.

Youngjo had warmed up to Seoho slowly at first, unused to having male friends. "I was popular with girls, always, and I tended to focus on my girlfriends only," he explained to Hwanwoong. "I also followed my sister around a lot, so I suppose I connected with girls more, in general. It was odd, then, to be spending all that time with Seoho. I was surprised we took to one another at all. Perhaps if I'd had more male friends in my teens, I would have figured out sooner why it made me feel so fluttery when he got close to me or when he snuck up and grabbed me from behind. I was clueless, though. In my mid-twenties, and still clueless." 

He shook his head fondly, and recalled a particular conversation they'd had. Deep into the night, stripped to their underwear and fighting off the heat in the cabin by the river where they'd been staying. "I might marry her," Youngjo had said, referring to his current girlfriend.

"You've been seeing her for how long? Four months? You're crazy. You can't possibly know her. She can't know you." 

"You have no room to talk." He'd rolled over to slap Seoho playfully on the shoulder. "You've never even had a girlfriend."

"I intend to keep it that way. I want to do whatever I can do to avoid it, actually. The thought of getting married just sets me off, makes me want to run away. Maybe you're just more mature than I am, but no thanks. Being an actor is good for that. I might also just go back to school. Travel everywhere, learn abroad for as long as I can." 

"What about your family?" 

"What about them?" Seoho had looked genuinely confused.

"They don't mind that you don't want to marry?" 

He shrugged. "My sister married well. They don't seem to mind what I do, as long as I'm happy." 

It didn't make sense to him, but Youngjo couldn't help admiring something in that casual autonomy. 

"In fact, in that moment," he said to Hwanwoong, back in the present, "I was wondering whether it would be so bad, just staying there longer. In that cabin, in the countryside, with him. For the first time, I really had to ask myself if I even missed my girlfriend. I wasn't prepared to think about things in terms of obligation versus desire, not yet, but it struck me as I watched Seoho that I wanted that sort of attitude. If not for myself, then I wanted it in my life." A pause. "I wanted someone like him in my life."

Their little shared cabin had been nearest to the river, and they'd voluntarily taken it simply for that fact, even though it was the most rundown, the roof leaked, and insect bites were an overwhelmingly common occurrence. By four weeks in, they'd made a habit of going down to the river in the moonlight to swim, mostly so they wouldn't be judged by their colleagues for goofing off during daylight hours (even though the "talent" had very little to do while the production delays were being dealt with). Youngjo grew very familiar with the way Seoho's face looked in the moonlight. On nights when the moon was particularly bright, he grew familiar with the way his entire body looked; his slim, shapely legs, the effortless definition of his abdominal muscles, the way his thin shorts clung wet to the places Youngjo knew he shouldn't have been paying so much attention. 

"And yet I did pay attention. I paid a lot of attention to Seoho on those nights. It was unexpected, to me, how the cover of night really allowed me to feel like I wasn't myself, and that I didn't have to answer for those things in the morning. If it hadn't been for the nighttime, back then, I don't know that I ever would have come to terms with a lot of things. Not in the same way." He paused, wondering how to go on, wondering how to broach the next checkpoint along the track of his story. He opened his mouth, shut it again, smirked wistfully, and then finally sighed and dove right into it. "So the first night I got hard looking at him, I was already in the water."

Hwanwoong, who had been idly playing with a stray thread on his pillow, stopped completely at this and crooked an eyebrow. 

"I didn't expect it, at least that's what I told myself. But looking back, I think I knew what I was getting myself into all along, that summer. I finally just let my body run with it. In spite of everything, I felt comfortable. I felt happy, and he just looked _so good_. For some reason, it didn't even occur to me what it all meant, until I felt my dick getting hard."

"You had your homosexual awakening in the middle of a river, under the moonlight?" 

"I had my homosexual awakening in the middle of a river, under the moonlight."

"I'm… absolutely flabbergasted by how fitting that is." 

Youngjo laughed, half-covering his mouth, exhilarated to be sharing the story with someone else finally. He remembered the way he'd frozen as his blood rushed to a place he hadn't expected, leaving him stockstill in the waist-deep water, unwilling to move much farther. All the while, his eyes stayed fixed on Lee Seoho, who stood in the shallows, adjusting the elastic band on the little white shorts that rode up to make his ass look irresistibly round. "No, I think that was just a pondskimmer," Seoho said, turning to Youngjo again. 

Youngjo, who had forgotten what Seoho had even been doing. "Oh." He suddenly wondered if Seoho had ever looked at _him_ this way before, studying the outline of his cock in wet shorts, gauging how big it was, wondering if--

"What's the matter with you?" He splashed Youngjo as he walked closer, stumbling slightly in the current that moved him closer as he also submerged to his waist. 

Trying to play it cool, as he always did, Youngjo just replied, "I don't know. Just looking at the moon. It's really pretty tonight." 

"Yeah, I guess it is." Seoho also looked up, and in doing so lost his concentration on the task of staying upright. They'd roughoused in the water many times, until that moment, but this time Youngjo was terrified at the realization that Seoho had lost his footing and was about to collide with him. 

"Oh, no!" Hwanwoong's eyes went wide, and he pulled the pillow up to hide his mouth in sympathetic chagrin. 

"Oh, yes. But what happened next was not what I expected." 

There was no way Seoho didn't feel almost immediately why Youngjo had been keeping to himself in the depths. Their legs tangled briefly, and full body contact was made before eye contact followed. With every sense at his somewhat-incapacitated disposal, Youngjo searched Seoho's expression for a reaction. 

He didn't have to do much searching. At first, Seoho just looked down and away, then smiled, keeping his hands fastened on Youngjo's shoulder. Softly, he said: "Cute…" 

In retrospect, it was the best he could possibly have hoped for, given such a revelation. "At the time, though, I was so mortified I couldn't even process it. I pushed him away, told him to shut up, and tried to laugh it off. We just kept goofing off, and I was thankful that he let it slide. We didn't talk about it. Not at the time, at least." 

Hwanwoong sighed, and leaned back against the wall, tossing a wrist across his forehead. "Of course you didn't. Dumb boys." 

"We were both very much young men at that point. Too grown to be that dumb." 

" _Dumb boys_." He reiterated, chuckling. 

It was a fair enough assessment. "But it stayed with me," Youngjo went on, "replaying in my mind, the way his face had been just an inch from mine, knowing I was hard for him, when he said that. _Cute…_ " 

"Of course it stayed with you!" Hwanwoong was caught up in the drama of it all, reacting like a live spectator, complete with an impassioned gesture at the ceiling. "Go on, what then? A silent kiss behind a tree, a quiet confession while you slept in separate beds?" 

Youngjo rolled his eyes. "It's Seoho, so of course it wasn't anything so straightforward. Of course it was something hidden behind layers of intention." 

Hwanwoong nodded, understanding this to be the obvious answer, and listened intently. 

They had walked out to the old mill building on the day everything finally came to a dizzying head. The mill was a concrete shell of a factory edifice, still mostly intact and about a mile from the river, down a once-gravel road that had been washed away and overgrown. The building was a beacon in the forest, poking its head up above the treeline, and the crew had filmed environment shots from its precipice, declaring it "safe, but not to be completely trusted." For Youngjo and Seoho, of course, this was a warning to be completely disregarded. They made the short trek out to the building, navigating the underbrush and getting only slightly distracted along the way.

To keep their minds on track, they ran lines together, going over a few particular scenes from early in the picture that had yet to be filmed. Seoho's character was a witty one, and the writing was rapid and quick to support that. The timing would mean everything, so they ran the scenes back and forth several times in an effort to perfect his delivery. 

Once they arrived at the mill building, however, Seoho broke away from Youngjo immediately and bolted for the stairwell. Whatever scene they'd been in the midst of was forgotten, replaced with the sound of Seoho's footsteps clanging on the iron stairs that led up, up, up. 

Youngjo's heart raced as he ran after him, laughing only because he was slightly nervous that the entire building might fall down on them at any moment. Just as he reached the first landing, he heard Seoho call down to him: "Youngjo!" 

"What!" 

He looked up, and saw Seoho staring down at him from the center of the stairwell, a flight above. Seoho grinned, seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then said, "I think I'm falling for you." 

Youngjo recognized the cadence of those words. It was a line from a scene that had already filmed, from the middle act of the film, but the confession still made every nerve in his body stand at attention. They'd practiced it together enough for it to be familiar at this point. Youngjo bit back his first instinct, and continued with the line reading as he paused and stared up the stairwell at Seoho. He tried to match the haughty way the actress opposite Seoho had spoken her lines. "I wasn't aware you had that much warmth in you, to care about someone." 

Seoho grinned, and started running up the stairs again. As Youngjo followed, panting, the next lined called back to him: "I didn't say I cared about you! Just that I'm falling for you. The way a bird falls out of the sky when it's hit by a hunter's shot." 

"That's a bit dark, isn't it?" Youngjo countered. He loved this scene, so much so that Seoho must have known he'd memorized it. The script, all in all, was surprisingly literary for such a low-budget operation. 

_Clang, clang, clang_ \- their feet fell on the stairs in syncopated rhythm. Then, a pause.

"Isn't love, to everyone but those in love? It's just a hunt." Somehow, it was Seoho's voice saying the words now. Not just his character. The change was arrestingly noticeable.

"Are you saying I got you, at least?" Youngjo also dropped the pretense, and took to using his own voice.

"Have you ever missed, before?" 

Stopping again, partly to catch his breath, Youngjo took the opportunity to stare up, looking for Seoho through the bright, open space that had once been covered with a glass skylight. The glass was long gone, and it opened straight to the sky and everything that fell out of it now. Seoho wasn't showing his face, but nor was he running. 

"Once or twice." Youngjo spoke the line, feeling a deeper, more personal meaning in the words for the first time. 

He heard Seoho reply from much further up, but couldn't see him. Instead of following, attempting to catch up to him, he just stopped to hear the next line in its entirety. It was a great line, after all. And he desperately wanted to to hear it from Seoho, as he spoke in his own voice, without the affect. "Did it give you the taste for a less challenging hunt, then? Someone like you, who could have any man you want? Just with a look, just like that. It didn't have to be me, did it? Could have been any old chump." 

_Clang, clang, clang._ Footfalls again, and Youngjo took off up the stairs. The roof was near, and he emerged above the tree line, at the summit of a derelict building that looked out over the entire expanse of the surrounding countryside. 

And there was Lee Seoho, shirttail caught flapping in the wind, continuing his line reading. He waited until Youngjo appeared with his chest heaving, before he said: "Yeah, you got me." 

Back in Hwanwoong's dorm room, Youngjo mimicked exactly what the scene looked like in his memory. "He looked right at me. Right into my eyes. He gave me the tiniest smile, and punched his own chest. As if to say, "you got me. Bang. Right through the heart."" For effect, he waited a beat. "That definitely wasn't in his original blocking." 

Then, perhaps sensing that he'd made the entire spectacle a bit too obvious, Seoho had started to shout. He was grinning still, spinning around to yell the last words of the small monologue. "But who ever made you think I was good enough for you, huh?"

"He spun around a couple more times, laughing like a little kid. He was giddy beyond his ability to deal with it, but I still didn't feel like I was within my rights to assume any of this was about me. Regardless, I was smitten. And I knew in that moment, more than any before, that I was smitten. So I walked up to him, slowly, and he fell into me. Kind of like he did that night in the river, but this time the water hadn't pushed him into me. He did it himself this time. He righted himself against me, still laughing. He lifted his head from my shoulder and said "I'm really dizzy," and... " 

Hwanwoong leaned forward, metaphorically on the edge of his seat. "Kim Youngjo, you heartbreaker, what did you do?" 

"I still can't say what came over me, but I'm glad it did. I looked in his eyes for less than a second before I knew I had to kiss him, so I kissed him." On top of the old mill building, alone for as far as they could see under the summer sun, just five weeks after they'd met, Youngjo threw his arms around Seoho's shoulders and kissed him recklessly. Happily. 

While Hwanwoong's mouth hung open, captivated at the development, Youngjo went on. "He still alleges it was his first kiss. I still don't know whether to believe him about that."

"Stealing someone's first kiss! Scandalous!" 

"I _said_ I don't know whether to believe him about that!" Youngjo collapsed back into the desk chair, covering his face and laughing. "Anyway!" He waved his hands in the air. "That's how it started! You wanted to know, and I told you." 

"Thank you for telling me. I wish I had a story like that. Anything like that. Everything I've had has been convenient, really. Opportunity more than anything. I've never really…" He punched his chest lightly, for effect. "Fallen for anyone like you two obviously did."

"Oh, it wasn't an easy sell on either of us, even after that kiss. We sat up on the roof, there, and talked for a couple of hours, just wondering what to do now that this was a thing we both had to deal with. I was actually rather calm about it, all things considered. Never thought I would have been. But all at once a lot made sense in my heart for the first time. Seoho, though, it was obvious he still wanted to run from thinking too seriously about it. He wanted to stay in the shallows as long as he could. So we sort of made a tacit agreement that this was something, but it wasn't anything that had to be figured out right away."

Nodding solemnly, thinking of how many of his own potential relationships had fizzled in the same wake of trying to figure it out, Hwanwoong walked the pillow out onto the mattress, then back into his lap, fidgeting. "I guess that's the other question I had. Getting together, that's something I can sort of relate to. But how did you stay together?"

Youngjo sensed that, by asking, Hwanwoong wanted to know more than Youngjo could possibly explain. He didn't want to know the objective _how_ , which was all that could be told. The loneliness beneath Hwanwoong's confidence was becoming more apparent, and he needed a playbook. Youngjo recalled the words from the scene he'd been reciting with Seoho before their kiss, finding them particularly relevant to what he knew of Hwanwoong. He was a hunter, in so many ways, and he rarely missed. But his quarry was rarely kept, and never sublimated into his everyday life. If Youngjo had a secret life with a full suite of experiences and realities all its own, Hwanwoong was still only playing a role, and he wasn't quite sure which was the real self. 

"We wrote letters, at first." At this answer, Hwanwoong nodded, then a devilish smile spread across his face. Youngjo caught it, and wagged a finger at him. "I've already burned them, don't even think you'd ever get to see them. Well, I burned most of them. There are a few I keep very safe, because I'm… yeah, I'm a sentimental fool like that."

The postal exchange had only added to the melodrama of their lives, as Seoho and Youngjo chronicled a shared sexual kindling from hundreds of miles away, with only memories and hopes for the future to hang their words on. From their first summer kisses and a few warm but awkward embraces before parting ways, they extrapolated all things over time, curating a scenario for what would come to pass if they crossed paths again. By winter, just a few months later, Youngjo was partially convinced he'd never see Seoho again, and he treated their letters as a register of dreams that wouldn't be realized. 

"And then he just showed up. He didn't even tell me he was coming to work on the same picture as I was, but there he was. He does that. Standing on no ceremony whatsoever. It knocked the breath right out of me, to see him in person. It was so disorienting I could hardly concentrate until we got the chance to be alone together, and then… well, we both called in sick the next day. Irresponsible, yes, but very necessary." 

He remembered the smell of coffee mingling with the smell of sex in his little apartment. He remembered kissing Seoho in an effort to wake him up, only to be pulled back into bed, before he learned to account for just how insatiable Seoho could be. They knew each other in a new dimension, from that point forward, a dimension no one else knew. For the first time in his life, Youngjo had understood the compulsion to run away from it all, to vanish from responsibility and obligation in pursuit of pleasure, infatuation, us-against-the-world companionship. 

"But eventually, we did go back to work. And from there, we learned to live around it. I started carving out ways to hide him in my heart, forging paths to navigate around the me everyone else knew." 

A clatter interrupted him, and Youngjo turned his head quickly, only mildly surprised. In fact, he was only surprised that they'd been left alone for so long. Hwanwoong's roommate entered, mumbled good evening, and walked toward the bathroom. 

"I'd better go, actually," Youngjo said, checking his watch. "Not that Seonok will worry, but I did tell her we'd have dinner together whenever I get home." 

"She didn't cook, did she? Is your wife waiting on you with a home-cooked meal?" Hwanwoong tilted his head with a chastising look. 

"Not tonight," Youngjo replied as he loaded his script and notebook into his bag. "She cooks occasionally, when she's in town, but she'll only save some for me if I ask her to. Rarely waits up for me, even then. No, tonight we're just having leftover soup. But I do like eating together." She was someone he loved, after all. Someone he could say that to, and find reciprocation. 

About an hour later, as he watched Seonok twirl her long hair up into a twist and spear it with a hairpin, Youngjo ruminated on her beauty, on what a handsome couple they made, on how well-suited for one another they truly were, all the way down to the eccentricities of their particular marriage. 

The conversation had dried up quicker than it usually did, but something about their mutual bearing suggested there were things they still wanted to talk about. Youngjo knew what his were. He wanted to talk to Seonok about Seoho, express his doubts and his worries. He wanted to know what she did when she was away; not to condemn her, but just to know. To hear what worries danced behind her soft, kohl-rimmed eyes. 

"Did I ever tell you what my mom's conception dream was?" Seonok asked suddenly. Her voice was like leather, soft but uneven, heavy. 

"I don't think you ever did, no." Youngjo leaned forward, dipping his spoon into the small amount of liquid still in his bowl, though he had no intention to keep eating, only to keep company. 

"Swans. My mom dreamed that she was floating in the river, surrounded by swans. Said she felt like a princess, and that the swans were coming to save her from something dark on the horizon." 

Youngjo lifted his napkin and reached across the table to dab a corner of it to Seonok's cheek, catching the tear that had slipped free at the memory. 

"It's okay," he said softly, and Seonok nodded, her usually composed face caught in a contortion of grief. The woman who dreamed of swans had died in the war, along with a grip of other civilian casualties in Seonok's hometown. "What's got you thinking of that, tonight?" 

"Because I feel guilty." She sniffled, and rested her forehead on her finger. "That I don't want to have children." 

They'd decided it early on to be their preference, as a couple, going so far as to laugh about believable ways to put off having children long enough that their siblings would have large enough families to compensate. 

Unsure whether he was reading the mood correctly, Youngjo was hesitant to reply at first. Haltingly, he finally asked, "Are you reconsidering our decision?" Masking his fear at the prospect, he nonetheless recognized the duty inherent in being a husband as he clarified. "Do you want to have children?" 

"No!" She said immediately, almost blubbering as sudden laughter intersected with the last tears she would spend that night. "No, no. Still no, thank you. Um, I'm just… just feeling guilty, on my own. Also angry, a little, because I know my mother would understand even if her sisters and my cousins don't." 

With that, it was as if she'd been snapped out of a trance. She shook her head swiftly, and smiled over at Youngjo. "It's funny how you can just know, sometimes, that someone would understand." Her words were carefully enunciated, obviously chosen with great deliberateness.

They looked over the dinner table, each into the familiar eyes of the other.

It _was_ funny. Not humorous, but peculiar. Unproven. Like a song he'd never heard before, but knew all the words to. And yet, he knew he would never be the first to broach the topic. Not even for all the hints she may have been giving him, which he may have been misreading, all this time.

Moments passed. Eventually, Seonok broke the eye contact with a sweet laugh, and squeezed Youngjo's hand where it rested on the table. "You're a good man," she said. 

"I love you."

"I love you," she replied earnestly.

She retreated to her bedroom, which was across the house from Youngjo's.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere thanks for the continued support of this fic! I read every comment, and even if I don't respond right away (I have trouble knowing what to say, sometimes!), I appreciate them so, so, so much. 
> 
> Enjoy!

He knew the handwriting on the envelope already, but he still turned it over in his hands as if double, triple checking that it was in fact addressed to him. A sigh of relief swelled his chest, and as he let it out Youngjo closed the bedroom door behind him. The anxious waiting had been difficult to endure, over two weeks of knowing only that a letter was on the way, in some form, at some time. His instinct to intercept it before Seonok could even see Seoho's name on it, read it, perhaps commit it to memory, had compelled him, though he didn't quite understand why. Friends wrote to her - old childhood friends, college friends, from Incheon and elsewhere - and he never batted an eye. It wasn't his business, just as they'd always agreed. And yet, somehow, Youngjo was determined to keep Seoho's existence in his life tucked away in its own little secret corner, every material trace hoarded like a magpie might. 

The letter, then. He leaned back against the door after closing it, resting there as he smirked at the hurried handwriting on the envelope itself, remembering their older letters and how meticulous Seoho had always been about them. A peculiar comfort was present in the handwriting here, a familiarity that warmed Youngjo to see. 

He ripped the top from the envelope and let its contents slide out into his hand, lifting it to his nose as he spread the paper open. A foolish move, he realized with a shake of his head. This wasn't like Seonok's scarves, her gloves, redolent with high dollar perfume and the smell of gardenias. Seoho didn't wear a fragrance, and he wouldn't have been the sort to leave any such mark on his letters even if he did. If the letter were to smell like him, it would smell vaguely of sweat and the tang of pressed wool. On the best mornings, the subtle brightness of fresh soap on clean skin. No such thing here - only paper, and cheap paper at that. Youngjo grinned, and raked his teeth over his bottom lip, overwhelmed with the convergence of so many days of waiting. His first thought was that he ought to sit down to read it, at the very least. 

There had been no work at Monarch Studios for Lee Seoho following the wrap on filming for The General's Final Words, and before filming began on The Gentleman in Spring he'd vanished into the night, leaving only a note nestled under the front windshield wiper of Youngjo's car, saying "Left early so you wouldn't think too much about it beforehand, get sappy. Won't say much here, but will write. Soon." 

Nearly two weeks later, the letter had arrived. There was a valve Youngjo felt loosening even as he glimpsed the opening line, the relatively carefully written "Hello Youngjo," at the top of the page. Pressure had been building in him in so many ways, the sort of pressure he was blind to most days but felt throbbing at every extremity now, with the thought of his lover at the forefront of his mind. Memories of letters past, letters burnt, the record of their scandal and how desperate it made him feel, how invincibly passionate it made him feel whenever he existed in his own space, alone with the thought of it. 

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Youngjo breathed slowly as he read on. 

_Hello Youngjo,_

_I know I sent your heart to your feet when I ran off like that. I can't say I'm sorry, not exactly. I didn't want to endure a night of you being overly sentimental about it, trying to make it a perfect goodbye the way you do. I don't like goodbyes at all; not when we know we'll just meet again, some time down the line. I wanted to hit the road and close my eyes on the bus and remember you the way you were the last time we were together. How was that? Oh yes._

_I remember._

_You thought I'd jump right into it here, didn't you? Fool ~ Of course I'll string you along a little first. I'm not the sort to spend recklessly. But you know that, don't you? Lovely Youngjo, so quick to act on your urges - I'm glad I'm there sometimes to keep you from shortchanging yourself, isn't that right? I'm not there right now, obviously (unless I am! If I am, hello to me! What an unexpected turn of events! Are we reading this together? I'd like that a lot ~). But if I know you at all, I know you've holed yourself up in your bedroom - that big bedroom with the big windows and the big mirror along the wall I know you watch yourself in while we're ~ well ~ Ah, ah. I'm getting ahead of myself, again (see what you do to me!) You've missed me, I know you have. You've been deprived, and lonely despite everyone and everything around you. Tell me, have you taken it upon yourself to have a longer look at Yeo Hwanwoong yet? I'm not the only one he's had his eye on, after all. I would hardly hold it against you if you did. For both our sakes - you tend to be punishingly intense when you haven't had your fill of me for a month or more, and while I do enjoy it, I need to avoid injury for the sake of work. He's a pretty thing, right? As long as you told me all about it, afterward, I wouldn't hold it against you. Oh, well. I know you won't. I just thought I'd mention the possibility. At the very least, take your time with this letter. Keep it close for a while, a little longer than the previous ones. The stress of the new picture will start gnawing at you, so let me give you a way to relieve yourself even if I'm off on my own adventure elsewhere._

_(The adventure is actually very mundane. I've got a couple of modeling shoots lined up in Seoul (maybe I am handsome, after all ~), and a print ad. I forgot what it's even for. Doesn't matter, as long as it pays next month's rent.)_

_You know, I read back over some of your old letters before I wrote this. I tried to get a sense for what you liked to read, but you didn't give me much of that. I just got a sense of what you like to write, and that is a lot of poetry, a lot of long-winded descriptions with a lot of flowery words, metaphors, and imaginings. Romance. The things I would expect. I'd expect no less. I demand it, in fact. Seoho is a demanding person, you might say ~ You think I'm teasing you right now, don't you? Well, only a little. I can't write like that. I'll test myself now. Lee Seoho, say something romantic about Kim Youngjo!_

_... huh? What's that? I can't do that! Uhh… that is… Kim Youngjo's voice is like a river, strong and beautiful. And I might drown in it if I'm not careful. No! That's not what I meant. Damn!_

_Have I killed the mood yet? Did I baffle you enough that your libido may not recover? I doubt that. If one thing of yours is truly like a strong river, it's your libido. Maybe I have something to do with that. Even though I don't have my own old letters to read, I know that I'm a lot more forward about things. I don't peek out at the vulgar from behind other words, other meanings. I have things to tell you, ideas to share, and I'm not going to cover them in a different coat of paint to get my point across. (That was poetic on its own though, right? ~ Oh, well. I tried.)_

_Yes, I've teased you enough, I think. Because now I'm also thinking about things like that. Are you ready? Are you comfortable?_

_To speak plainly, I wish you were here to fill me up right now. I'm not even that particular about how - take your pick. You usually do, and I'm happy to let you, as always. You do it very well, Youngjo. Kissing me, fucking me, filling my mouth, coming inside of me - no matter what you do, you leave me without a doubt that you were there. You always stir me up somehow, leave me a little scrambled by the end of it. Should I think back to that last time we were together, now? What I cut myself off from before? Yes, I think I should ~ It's my favorite way to be, balanced over your hips while you thrust into me from below. Lowering myself further, further, all the way, until you're the deepest you can possibly be inside of me. I let out those yells I can't control when you fuck me like that, the high-pitched ones that drive you crazy. You like me to yell, and I like when you say something about it (or fuck me harder because of it!). I remember looking down at your chest, the way it was shiny with sweat, and I saw that you were staring right ahead at my cock._

_Answer me this, Youngjo, next time we're together: if you could only suck my cock or fuck me for the rest of your life, which would you choose? I know It's an unfair question (especially to me ~), because I can tell how much you love both. I could see that look in your eyes while I bounced on top of you, the look of wanting to get your lips around me. I thrive on it, in such a weird way, when I see your eyes traveling over me, making a series of objects out of me._

_Do you know why I like that position the most - riding on top of you while you're stuffed to the hilt inside of me? I gave you a hint earlier._

_That's right ~ it's because I don't have to compete with a mirror. I know you like to watch yourself while you fuck me. I sometimes do it, too. I'll turn my head while you've got me face-down on the bed, or glance over as you resposition my legs around your waist. I know why you do it, of course. Why wouldn't you? We're more than a little eye-catching together, I think, and you do look so good naked, and though I don't have the pleasure of watching from the sidelines, I can assume you look especially good while you're fucking. But when I have you pinned on your back, your eyes are only on me. It's just you in a mess of white sheets, breathing heavy and licking your lips at me, trapped under my weight, between my thighs while I'm screwed down tight on you, and I like having that power. I like how pretty you look, just a little bit helpless like that. Undone, if I do things right ~. Beautiful Youngjo. My Youngjo._

_We're certainly a pair, aren't we?_

_I'm getting tired of writing. I never can keep at it for too long. My mind wanders. I'll bet yours has started to wander, too. Or is it actually intensely focused? What can be said of your hand, then? Has it started to wander? I want it to ~ I want to seal this envelope and know you'll be touching yourself, thinking about me, my body, my hot mouth and tight little hole, once you read it. Watch yourself in the mirror, even. I want you to ~ I'll be gracious toward the mirror for once, even though I'm jealous of it right now, while I've got nothing but my fingers and some liquor to keep me company. I'll make good use of both, I'm sure._

_We can tell each other all about it, once we see each other again. I want you to wrap your arms around me from behind and kiss my neck; whisper in my ear about how hard you were, and I'll tell you how slick and open I was, and we can have our own little re-enactment. Call this a dress rehearsal, if you want. Depending on how dressed you might be. I plan to not be, very shortly ~_

_I'll be thinking of you._

_Lee Seoho_

Youngjo couldn't have said it better, himself: Seoho _was_ , in so many ways, a demanding person. A man of preference, one might say if one were trying to be diplomatic about it. Sometimes he was plain in his demands, and sometimes he was a devious fox, weaving gracefully about on quiet feet, leaving suggestions that couldn't help being indulged. 

By the middle of the letter, Youngjo had already begun to rub himself through his trousers, so once he got to Seoho's final statement on the matter, he couldn't help rolling his eyes, laughing softly. "As you wish," he mumbled at the letter, Licking his lips compulsively for not the first time since he'd started reading. 

For a few minutes he didn't heed the suggestion to watch himself in the mirror. Contrary to what Seoho suggested, it was not often that he kept his eyes on the mirror to watch only himself. Getting an eyeful of the man at his sexual mercy was the key motivating factor on most occasions, with the added bonus of glutting his own vanity. So as he worked his belt and zipper apart with one hand, he was looking nowhere else but the letter, studying the most provocative words in Seoho's handwriting, the way he wrote them, the speed or the deliberateness with which each led into the next. He conjured the phrases to mind as Seoho might say them in his voice. He didn't often say things like that - neither of them did. It was a gift exclusive to their letters, and between the two of them Seoho absolutely had more of a knack for the obscene. 

Youngjo's breath hitched, his blood pumping faster as he thumbed the tip of his cock and read disjointed fragments, making them a pastiche of things he wished to be whispered in his ear. Perhaps the next time they met in that room, he mused, he'd sit Seoho in his lap, wrapped around him in every way as they devoured each other's mouths, Seoho's cock rubbing against his stomach, and ask him sweetly to say those things. His ears burned and he stroked himself faster as he imagined it, imagined Seoho telling him, "fuck me harder, fuck my tight little hole, beautiful Youngjo, my Youngjo…" 

"Yes, baby…" His eyes slipped shut and he responded to the spectral Seoho who wasn't even there as his pleasure began to peak fiercely, familiarly. The letter fell out of his hand and to the floor, and Youngjo finally opened his eyes to watch the mirror. 

Vanity, yes. A decadent sense of self-worth, perhaps. But no matter how much he valued and flaunted his own genetic blessings, it was a well seldom visited to consider what Seoho saw in him, and what specifically drove his more obscene fixations. He thought about the letter, and about letters past, all those words seared passionately into his brain as they were, and smirked at his reflection. How libertine he looked, how shameless, legs splayed wide with trousers loose about his hips, cock standing hard as a pipe in his hand. Seoho was certainly fond of it - its size, its shape, its very existence - and had in the past written and mailed him a half-drunken ode on the qualities of it in particular, in detail so loving Youngjo was convinced from then on that Seoho's poet's soul was extant, unlocked perhaps by the profane. It had been the first letter he'd burned, though it pained him to do so, and he endeavored to commit as much of the circuitous prose to memory beforehand. Just like memorizing lines, but with an entirely different purpose. 

That purpose having been fulfilled many times over the short years since, he tried to delay his own gratification, slowing his strokes as he surveyed his handiwork, smiling on the inside with quiet pride while all his face could do was tighten and tense. His lips grew hot from the way he was constantly raking his teeth over them, and he realized that, in the throes, they were usually swollen from the prolonged attention to Seoho's mouth and the way they tended to suck and bite each other as they kissed. He was making due. 

Considering the letter holistically, his mind was suddenly overwhelmed with a particular image that made it difficult to keep his eyes open: Seoho a few minutes after writing the closing lines of that letter, naked with his face down, back arched and knees spread on the mattress, three slick fingers deep inside of himself and moaning. He would not be moaning Youngjo's name, knowing how thin the walls of his apartment were, but rather some indistinct trill of pleasure escaping despite his best efforts to be quiet as he fucked himself as close to satisfaction as he could manage. 

Breath hitching once again, this time unavoidably as the image sparked the fuel already building inside of him, Youngjo slammed his eyes shut and tossed his head back, barely making a noise as he came. 

Immediately, almost the very moment his brain had a chance to focus on anything else, he thought about Hwanwoong.

Riled, spent, and in a haze of euphoria, Youngjo lay back on the bed. He hadn't taken the time to process what Seoho was saying about Hwanwoong, earlier in the letter. He'd wondered how much of it was a tease, how much of it was meant to pink his ears and roil his blood with the scandalous thought of it. But in the safe nether of afterglow, he wondered how much of it was sincere. Was Seoho really sicking him on another lover, actively stoking the fires of Youngjo's professionally divided attention? Hwanwoong had been a respectful friend, all things considered, though his manners still tended toward a bold flirtatiousness Youngjo had been careful not to encourage. Despite the temptation to throw his arms around the smaller man, run a hand through his hair, tease him with a too-focused stare as they rehearsed or wiled away their free time on set together, he hadn't. 

By the time he came back around to reality and resolved to clean himself up, Youngjo still hadn't quite come to any determination on the matter. All he knew was that he missed Seoho, and that Seoho might - maybe, in the barest glimmer of an idea that had yet to fully form in the periphery of Youngjo's mind - have a point. 

\--

"Is it a cast party, then?" Hwanwoong looked skeptical. "Isn't it a little early for that?" 

"It's a kick-off party. We usually have a kick-off party when filming starts, is the thing. The cast and crew come over to the house, we drink, we eat, we get to know each other. But Seonok's been out of town so much, we haven't found the time." Youngjo grew slightly impatient as he explained. "Everyone else gets it, trust me. It's a kick-off party for the picture. But it's a couple of weeks late." 

"On Friday, is it?" He surveyed the hand-written invitation in his hand: vibrant black ink on thick, expensive pressed cardstock, watermarked, with deckled edges. Understated, classy, but modern - probably the wife's choice. Youngjo tended toward the more ostentatious if he showed off his money at all, and even then he tended to be more traditional. "I'll come. I'd like to meet Seonok, after all I've heard about her." 

"She'll like you," Youngjo said with a smile, and a small bow to thank Hwanwoong for accepting the invitation. "You two share a tendency for saying what's on your mind." 

"Can I bring someone?" Hwanwoong said, passing the card under his nose and pausing to enjoy it. If they had both been men with typical modalities concerning women and their relationships with them, Youngjo might have been vaguely offended by the gesture. Unlike Seoho's letter just a few days before, Seonok's cards absolutely carried perfumed notes of gardenia and sage. 

"Yes," Youngjo answered, though he was a bit confused. "Do you intend to bring a date?" 

"I may." His answer was sing-song, sly. "It would be nice to have a friend there who won't be concerned with the duties of hosting." 

"Oh, it's not as formal as all that. We're very modern about our parties. Still, feel free to bring a friend." 

"I will, then. Now, to find a friend…" Hwanwoong looked around absently, as if intending to find one then and there. 

Summer was drawing to a close, but _The Gentleman in Spring_ would see them in one another's orbit for a few weeks longer. The heat of the season was fading as the days grew subtly shorter, and as they waited together between scenes at that afternoon's outdoor shoot, Hwanwoong shuffled in and out of the direct sunlight multiple times, claiming to be hot one minute and cold the next. 

"What about Geonhak?" Youngjo suggested, standing on his tip-toes and trying to see what was happening with the sound crew as they struggled to find the perfect set up against the unexpected wind gusts the day had brought. 

Hwanwoong shrugged one shoulder. "We haven't talked much lately. He's spending a lot more time with Dongju, you know. Then again, they're on the same picture." 

The late day's sun filtered through the leaves of the trees and cast shifting shadows on his face. Youngjo nodded, admiring for a moment just how classically handsome Hwanwoong actually was, with his angular jaw and high cheekbones. Every day, he had another reason to believe the parts of Sancheol and Ilseung had been conjured up specifically for them to play - if Youngjo was a melancholy matinee idol, after all, Hwanwoong embodied the sharpness and cunning of a rakish foil.

He remembered to answer him a second too late, because Hwanwoong took notice of the delay, and of the fact that Youngjo was staring. 

For the first time, Youngjo allowed himself to keep staring. "Do you think we have another set romance on our hands?" He bit back laughter at his own quip. Another second too late: "Geonhak and Dongju, I mean."

"I know." A beat. "With either of those two, who could ever tell?" 

It was true. Youngjo was good at hiding his secrets and his intentions, but Geonhak was practically a non-entity when it came to expressions of the self. Momentarily, he lamented not seeing his friend more often, but knew they would cross paths again soon. "I don't know that I'd be surprised," he said thoughtfully, at last. "There's something there I'm not sure even they're aware of." 

"Getting flashbacks to that summer in the woods, are you?" Hwanwoong asked.

Crooking one eyebrow, Youngjo tilted his head, admonishing Hwanwoong silently to say no more of such personal things. Hwanwoong met the look with one of his own, tilting his head in the opposite direction, smiling gently, provocatively. _Trouble,_ thought Youngjo. 

He tried to banish thoughts of Seoho's letter from his mind, as it wasn't the best thing to be considering during work hours, and walked further into the shade where Hwanwoong stood. Easily, he tossed an arm around him, and angled their heads closer together. "You're trouble." 

"And you're sad that Seoho won't be at your party."

Youngjo reared back, putting space between their faces so Hwanwoong could see his affronted expression. "No, actually! What would I do with my wife and my lover in the same room, for more than three hours, while I get liquored up?" 

"That is a good point. Maybe I can serve the purpose of making you just as uncomfortable." Hwanwoong grinned. 

With a scoff, Youngjo barely resisted the temptation to muss the younger man's hair up in retaliation, remembering that they were still in the middle of a shoot. "Why would you do that?" 

"Because Youngjo is adorable when he's flustered. It's the only time you let down that cool facade of yours." 

And Hwanwoong, similarly, was only a chiseled, rakish type as long as he maintained an icy demeanor. When he smiled with his whole face, as he did then, Youngjo couldn't help feeling the warmth of joy at seeing someone who still very obviously enjoyed himself uncynically, without pretense. Playfully, he squeezed Hwanwoong tighter, enveloping him in his arms, and pulled him back against the tree where they rested for a few moments, discussing further the possibilities of the party. Hwanwoong wasn't used to such celebrations in general, it seemed, coming from a dance company where informal get-togethers in bars and restaurants were more common. His excitement over the prospect was palpable by the time a set assistant walked over to instruct them that they were approximately five minutes from continuing the shoot, if the current sound tests ran well. 

"It's interesting," Youngjo noted, only a bit sad, "that I can stand here with you, like this, and no one seems to think much of it. We're just castmates being brotherly. And yet if I did this with Seoho my heart would be beating so fast it would leap right out of my throat. I'd give myself away." 

"It's because I'm short." Hwanwoong sighed, and pulled away. He began to dust himself off, making sure he was presentable for inspection by the set and wardrobe staff before returning to work. "Make no mistake, I use it to my advantage that I can hang all over attractive men and play it off like I'm just being a clingy little brother." 

"Sounds nice." They began to meander over to the shooting location, where more staff were congregated.

"You'd still look perverted even if you were short," Hwanwoong turned around to say. 

"What do you mean?" Youngjo practically yelped, keeping his volume in check only out of respect for the already-beleaguered sound crew hard at work. 

"You've got that look! That's all I can say!" Hwanwoong started laughing, and sped up a bit to avoid Youngjo's reach before he could lash out to smack him playfully, which of course he tried to do. 

\-- 

Seonok clapped a hand on his shoulder, telling him to "Wait."

At the firm entreaty, Youngjo stopped and turned to be scrutinized once more. Of all the commonalities they shared, their mutual tendency to overthink appearances was perhaps where their compatability was strongest. 

"You buttoned it," she said, shaking her head as she eyed his throat. "Why?" 

"I just feel uncomfortable, looking that casual in a suit." 

"It's a party, and we don't want to give off the impression that we're stuffy traditionalists. Have some soju. _Get_ comfortable." Seonok popped the top button of his shirt collar again with lightning quickness before stepping around him to answer the door. She'd been the one to suggest that he forego wearing a tie, to better coordinate with her playful wiggle dress, and Youngjo still felt awkward despite her insistence that it was the increasingly common fashion for men abroad. She'd been abroad, after all, and often. Her fashion sense knew better than his, and he was quite eager to learn. So, despite feeling a target painted directly on his exposed throat, Youngjo lifted his chin and reminded himself to look cool. 

"Director Jeon, good evening!" Seonok said brightly as she swung the door open, letting in a burst of cool night air with it. "You're the first to arrive. And Kyungsook, good evening. That dress - it's stunning! Please, please, come in. Welcome back to our home."

She was a perfect hostess, and always spoke fondly of being one. Seonok may have eschewed a traditional mindset regarding home, hearth, and husband, but if a party could be held every week she would be the first to jump at the chance to host it. Where such evenings wore Youngjo out, mentally and physically, she only seemed more energized on the mornings after, walking about the house and humming happily as she re-arranged cushions and swept the floors. It wasn't that she liked being the center of attention, and in fact she tended to blend into the crowd once a party was in full swing. Some months before, after a wrap party on a different picture, she'd explained to Youngjo that she simply liked bringing people together, and filling their home with the energies of human beings having a good time. It had made him feel more at ease hosting parties in general, a practice he had previously seen as the dominion of the sycophant. The Kims were making a name for themselves at Monarch Studios, encouraging a new social era of unbuttoned collars, upbeat music, and high hemlines, with Seonok the vanguard. 

Seonok was showing the Jeons what had changed since their last visit, when there was another knock at the door. 

Youngjo reminded himself that there was no reason to be nervous, though he always tended to be when more than a handful of people were in his house at one time. Almost everyone they'd invited, he considered a friend. If they weren't a friend, he at least trusted them. He didn't have a tendency to act out or get reckless, even with a number of drinks in him, so he had no idea what made him so anxious about the crowd. He liked people, and he liked being around them, but there was still _something_. Maybe it was how the house transformed during a party. The large front room was warm with lamplight in a way it usually wasn't, and the furniture had been temporarily rearranged to accommodate foot traffic. Maybe it was the lack of space for retreat and more quiet conversations. Taking a deep breath with his hand on the door, Youngjo reminded himself that he could at least slip away to the back porch if he needed a breath of fresh air, or to clear his head. 

His face didn't transform and light up the way Seonok's did whenever she shifted into hostess mode, but nonetheless he tried to look brighter as he opened the door. 

"Good evening," he glanced down slightly to greet Hwanwoong. 

"Good evening," Hwanwoong said back, nose scrunching a little at the formality of it. "No tie…!" He pointed out the novelty with a grin. 

But Youngjo ignored him, his attention stolen entirely by the figure flanking Hwanwoong on his front steps. "Wh--" He tried to say a word, but realized he had no idea what to say as his bright expression slackened. 

"Good evening," Seoho said politely, folding his hands at his waist and smiling as if fully aware of the absurdity of it all. "Hwanwoong invited me." 

"How?" His first reaction sounded far sharper than he intended.

Hwanwoong rolled his eyes. "I gave him a phone call." 

Before Youngjo really had time to process the myriad implications, before he had time to ask "Why?", he realized that three more people were approaching up the walkway and ushered the two men inside. 

Passing him closely in the entryway, Seoho mumbled, "I'll be good."

Those words made their way into Youngjo's head on little fox feet, and settled as an anxious lump in his throat.

It was going to be an interesting evening.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Finally it's done! I've been working on this chapter for so long, and finally I've completed it (don't believe everything you're told about detailed outlines making everything easier in the writing process. The outline for this chapter was so difficult to fill in the blanks on. But hey, that's 2020 for you!) 
> 
> There's more Seonok Lore in this chapter, for those who care, and some interactions between The Boys that were really exciting and fun to write. I hope they feel that way to you, as well. I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter, if you'd like to drop a comment!

30 minutes into the party, Hwanwoong and Seonok had attached themselves to one another. Youngjo flitted from living room, to bar, to front door and back again in a continuous revolution of greeting duties; as he did so, he caught the sound of laughter several times, and not the sort of sweet, affected laughter Seonok usually reserved for parties. Hwanwoong seemed to be making her laugh in a genuine way, which was something even her husband had trouble pulling off. 

Passing Seonok with a gentle hand on the small of her back, he lingered as Hwanwoong told her: "Of course I'd notice. It's a Nora Noh dress, who wouldn't?" 

"Well, most folks don't have an eye for fashion, you know. Besides Youngjo." She turned halfway, peering at Youngjo with lips slightly pursed, a beauty queen's pose as she basked in the glow of Hwanwoong's compliments. 

"I'm glad to hear that, at least." Hwanwoong said as Youngjo hurried to the door and ushered in two more familiar faces. 

Keeping his ear out, he smiled proudly to himself as Seonok replied: "Yes, he picked the dress out, in fact." 

"Did he?" Hwanwoong's voice ratcheted up at this, his surprise and delight apparent. 

Youngjo passed by them again a few seconds later, on his way back to the bar to offer a drink to their latest arrivals. He caught Seonok's eye, and said: "See? I told you the pink suits you." 

Seonok laughed and scrunched her nose at Youngjo, and the bracelets on her wrist jangled as she reached out to slap him playfully. She swayed in a casual way, not particularly concerned with her bearing. A perfect hostess, still, but obviously at ease. 

The Kims had perfected their rhythm by the time they came together again in the main thoroughfare between living room and bar. This time, though, Seonok held her hands out, urging him to pause before he continued toward the door. "I think that's everyone, actually," she said, glancing around. "Well, except Hangyeol, obviously."

"Obviously." The man in question would show up sometime in the second hour of the party, as usual, most likely with a new girlfriend no one had met before. 

Suddenly, Youngjo didn't know quite what to do. "You've been helping out a lot," Seonok said, taking his hands in hers as they enjoyed a quiet moment to look only at one another. "Thank you. I feel like I've been talking to your friends more than you've had a chance to. So go, actually enjoy the party!" 

"Okay," he said, forcing a positive outlook despite the fact that he had no idea how to act in that moment. Going on an hour into the party, and he had been constantly aware of where Seoho was in his periphery, though they had yet to make direct eye contact or acknowledge one another's presence beyond the threshold of the house. 

Just then, as Youngjo wrestled with the eternal question of just how thickly to lay on normal husband and wife behavior for the sake of their guests, Hwanwoong approached them from the side. "I figured it out," he said, and waggled a finger at Seonok, whose face beamed with curiosity at the statement. 

"Did you?" She kept holding on to Youngjo's hands, but grinned at Hwanwoong with a mischievous flair. Obviously, they already knew very well what they were talking about. 

Hwanwoong pronounced the name carefully. "Jungle Gardenia." 

It was the name of Seonok's perfume. She let go of Youngjo's hands, and held hers up with a festive cheer. "Yes! See, you recognized it. I knew you'd get it with a little more time to think." 

Youngjo shook his head. "I'm going to go get a beer." 

As he turned to go, already being beckoned by a couple of party-goers eager to bend his ear in conversation, Seonok and Hwanwoong continued to talk. 

"Isn't that a bit difficult to get, nowadays?" 

"Hm… not if you have connections." 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"My friend in Incheon owns a boutique. I fell in love with this perfume while we were in Paris a few years back, and now she imports it for me through her business." 

Their conversation faded into the ruckus of the party around him. 

An hour and a half into the party, Hwanwoong approached Youngjo, regarding their matching bottles of beer. "Not feeling the stronger stuff?" He asked, moving closer. 

Youngjo shrugged and tilted his bottle nonchalantly. "I like to keep drinking throughout the party. While I'm talking to people I don't really notice how much I drink. So, beer it is. Probably have a glass of whiskey nearer to the end of the night. What's your excuse?" 

"Never could handle soju well. At least I know my limits." 

"I'm married to a champion drinker. Long ago, I gave up trying to match her, and I'm at peace with that." Youngjo laughed, and glanced across the living area at Seonok. He looked away just as quickly when he realized who she was with. 

Hwanwoong noticed as well. Without moving his lips or compromising the smile on his face, he sang: "They're _talking…_ " 

"I noticed. What do they have to talk about?" 

This ruffled Hwanwoong visibly, and he felt a jolt of indignance on behalf of both Seonok and Seoho. "It's a little hasty to assume there's nothing, isn't it? Why don't you go over there and find out?" 

"Do I look like I want to throw up?" Youngjo stared at the beer. "People are going to start noticing I'm acting weird. This stuff needs to start calming me down, lowering my inhibitions, something. Soon." 

"Yeah, that's not how that works. Why don't you go talk to Pyongho? He could tell you one of his war stories." He mimicked the voice of the older producer, who tended to ramble on, slowly, and never make much of a point. "It will… put you… to sleep… in no time." 

Youngjo cackled at this, quickly turning his head to hide his face. Hwanwoong had learned in the early weeks of their friendship that Youngjo hated to laugh openly in front of others. He claimed that it made him look ugly, despite the contrary insistence of many. And so, naturally, Hwanwoong always endeavored to make him laugh. 

A sudden bustle of activity in the living room drew his attention away from the pursuit, though. It took only a few moments to size up the situation from where they stood. 

"Wow. He's going to do it, isn't he?" Hwanwoong shook his head and snickered. "He just can't resist." 

"Here? Is he..." Youngjo's mouth hung open on an unfinished question as Seonok excitedly urged the others present to clear a space in the middle of their large living room. She offered that space to Seoho.

They both watched Seoho move into the spot, smiling brightly while keeping his usually staid demeanor. He spoke with Seonok briefly, and a laugh rippled through the crowd as he waved his hands as if to clear the previous statement from the air. Youngjo couldn't help being charmed, then, as Seoho paused, stood straight, and took only a moment of preparation before launching into a perfectly-executed backflip right there in the living room. 

With a whoop of excitement, greased by a couple of strong drinks, Seonok flapped her hands at the display, and searched the room for Youngjo. Finding him before he could look away, she gestured at Seoho with an expression that said plainly "can you believe that?" Youngjo, of course, very much could, and he laughed back at her, nodding and toasting the air in her direction. 

A few seconds later, he could no longer ignore the fact that Hwanwoong was staring at him. "What's on your mind, Kim Youngjo?" The tone was designed to needle, as it often was with Hwanwoong. 

The attention of almost every guest was centered on Seonok and Seoho in that moment, apart from those having their own distinctly private conversations, so it was easy to be discreet. Regardless, Youngjo still replied in a voice so low that Hwanwoong knew better than to miss what was being said; it would scarcely be repeated. "What I did to him on that rug a few months back."

"Yes, I figured it was something like that," Hwanwoong tittered with conspiratorial laughter as Youngjo took a mighty swig of his beer. 

Two hours into the party, guests were no longer ignoring the piano. It sat in the sun room at the front of the house, situated next to a large picture window where the sunrise over the hills could be seen on a clear day. The sun room was a bit secluded from the rest of the house, which is why Youngjo had turned it into his unofficial music room, but the guests had nonetheless listed there naturally over the course of the evening as if compelled by an easterly breeze. As he sat on one end of his favorite green lounge chair, speaking to one of the usually quiet cameramen who loosened up after a couple of drinks, his eye was caught by the way people kept shyly pressing a key or two, giggling, and then leaving the piano alone for apparent fear of being too disruptive.

Seonok entered the room in short order, surprised to see where everyone had congregated, and immediately Director Jeon called to her. "Seonok, could I trouble you to play a song for us?" 

Youngjo watched his wife with amusement, smiling as she navigated the tension of the moment with characteristic ease. "No! No, no, that is, I don't play the piano. I learned to play the violin, and I've even forgotten most of that now. But Youngjo's at that piano all the time." A ripple of impressed murmurs went through the crowd at this. "He's really good. He writes his own songs!"

It would have been disingenuous of him to avoid the attention. He'd cultivated those skills for a reason, after all. The murmur turned to a swell of requests that he play something, and Youngjo absorbed the attention like a sponge, well aware that he was finally, after enough food and drink and acclimation, starting to behave more like his usual self. 

Approaching the piano bench that had been considerably warmed by a number of guests already, he explained that he was confident in his playing, but not so much in his singing voice. "Not after so much beer and salty food, that is." 

Seonok left the spotlight to him, though she continued to commentate from the sidelines. "Your voice is good!" She glanced around at the crowd. "His voice is good… unless that's me being biased. Oh!" The excitement of that sudden interjection made Youngjo look up and away from the keyboard. "Play that one song I like so much! What's it called?" 

She was standing right next to Seoho - or maybe it was the other way around. As if pulled by an irresistible gravitational force, Youngjo's eyes slid there, and so he overcorrected, sweeping his glance around the small assembly of friends and coworkers, just to avoid the temptation of locking eyes with Seoho. Hwanwoong was sat on a windowsill near his right, his small body perched where few others could fit so effortlessly. So Youngjo let his eyes linger there as he chuckled awkwardly. "I don't know. You like a lot of my songs. And to be fair, I don't title a lot them."

"You know. The one about summer love. The flowers, in summer. And the river, and--" 

"Oh, that one," he said quickly. 

Hwanwoong's eyebrows shot up at this description just as much as Youngjo's hasty interruption. He sipped his drink gingerly, staring right at Youngjo, indeed right through him. 

Luckily, there was always the excuse of watching the keys, although he could easily play the song in question blindfolded. He endeavored to pretend it was just a normal evening, just him and Seonok in the house, no reason for him to be nervous about playing the song for a crowd, no reason for his pulse to be suddenly rabbiting in his throat. He was thinking of Seonok in her slacks and sweater, laid across the green lounge chair reading a book as he played, allowing him mistakes and do-overs and rewrites between measures, occasionally saying "that's really pretty," or "I like that" during the silent moments, occasionally giggling as he improvised nonsense where lyrics would later go. 

The songs were for no one, after all. So went his ruse. They were all his own, just little records of thoughts and feelings that never demanded an explanation. So went her understanding of them.

He hoped it would remain that way, as he played through the opening strains of the song he dared not title but which he had secretly filed away in his mind under his lover's name. He licked his lips, and shakily began to warble the lyrics. 

"Blooming moon, a flower on the water / I'll hold you when it's warmer again," he began, the words returning to him naturally after several weeks of not singing the song. "Maybe another summer, I'll follow you above the treeline and kiss you again." 

Even if he'd taken more pains to be subtle in his references, it would have been difficult to hide the intended subject from those who knew the story. Hwanwoong, Seoho, and himself - he could practically feel the circle of understanding, woolly and suffocating in its alien comfort, forming in the room as he sang. He felt vulnerable even within that circle. Stripped, somehow. A bit the way he'd felt in the river as Seoho collided with him, on the very night that had inspired the song.

"If I said I loved you like chaos, would it matter? Like petals scattered, would it move you? Would these swirling petals in the water even matter, now that they'll never form a flower in summer again?" 

Looking away from the keyboard on pure instinct, tilting his head back in his usual way as he connected with the vibration of the deeper notes, Youngjo tried to focus only on the eaves of the ceiling and the expensive ceiling lights they'd recently had installed.

But a short while later, as he sang, "Tell me the truth, if I gave you my hand would you let me?" he looked to his left. He found Seonok watching him fondly, a proud smile on her pretty face, lipstick long smudged away by glasses and bottles, hardly self-conscious about appearances at that point in the evening. "Will I hide this flower from the sun forever?" Despite every instinct screaming at him not to, his eyes slid sideways again, and landed on Seoho. This time, as predicted, he was transfixed.

Seoho was reacting, though to someone who didn't know him well it wouldn't have seemed that way. His usual foxlike smile was gone, his eyes no longer half-moons, and he stared straight ahead at Youngjo with an earnest, probing expression. Compelled though he was by that disquieting look to shut up immediately, Youngjo only sang with more vigor, his untrained voice breaking slightly on the higher register, looking right back at Seoho. "Will I follow the moon forever, pulled along by the current?"

It felt like an argument, like a confrontation. Something in Seoho's expression was answering the questions he asked, but in a language Youngjo only half-understood. The circle of understanding was all he had, then, and so he tore his eyes away, voice returning to a relative quiet following the middle eight. "I love you with petals hidden in my mouth / If I speak they'll come spilling out. I love you above the treeline forever / Where it's summer forever / I want to believe you'll catch those petals if they fall." 

The rest of the song seemed like an eternity, the melancholy musical phrases that formed an extended outro, ending on an unresolved chord that Seonok always claimed brought tears to her eyes. The last note, in its dirge-like minor key, vibrated for a few final seconds through the silent room and through Youngjo's fingers. Then, the room burst into applause, the circle of understanding was broken, invaded, and he was reminded of where he was. 

He tried to realign the mood as quickly as he could, laughing before he said, "I think that's all I'll sing tonight. It's a bit somber, isn't it? Not great party music." 

"It was beautiful!" One of the wardrobe girls said, and Youngjo realized as he looked at her that she'd come alone. He wrote her story behind his eyes in an instant, and thought that of course the song would resonate with someone attuned to the concept of unrequited love. "Thank you for the song." 

A few others echoed her sentiment, and Youngjo bowed over the piano keys graciously. "Thank you for indulging me. Let's put on some records, instead, though."

"Ah, I really do love that song," Seonok said.

"Is it about the two of you?" Someone asked slyly, but Youngjo didn't recognize the voice. The question drew rifle sight on the very thing he didn't necessarily want to discuss, but which he knew he'd have to manuever around.

"Ah, no." Youngjo shook his head. "I don't tend to write about my own affairs," he lied. "But it is about two young lovers in the summertime." He couldn't resist adding, perhaps for added credibility: "Seonok and I fell in love in the autumn." 

Seonok laughed, herself putting on a bit of an act, and they shared a furtive smirk.

The next voice to cut through the murmuring crowd was soft but clear, a gentle ingratiation. A flower blooming through the undergrowth of clueless onlookers, bowing to the sunlight of understanding. "You should write for the movies," Seoho said. His smile had returned, and from where he stood his eyes angled down on Youngjo just enough that a tickle of intimidation ran through the other man.

A few people laughed, but only Youngjo sat in stunned silence, immediately placing the words, their very cadence and rhythm, as he'd spoken them to Seoho weeks ago in the afterglow of their coupling. 

"Maybe I should," he replied after a few seconds, staring, calling upon his acting skills as the only power that could possibly keep him from seeming as thrown as he was. Most of all, he tried not to consider how often Seoho replayed their post-coital conversations in his head that would allow him to conjure those words so quickly as to seem like wit. 

Another beer, perhaps, and then he'd need to get some fresh air. 

Three and a half hours into the party, and the guests were dwindling. Youngjo had found himself caught in multiple nets of friendly conversation en route to the back porch, which was blessedly empty. He kept the porch light off as he walked to the edge of the wooden overhang, looking down at the grass about a foot below. It had drizzled slightly sometime during the evening, and the grass was speckled with drops of water that caught the sparse light from the windows of the house. He felt miles away from the party as he lost himself in the blades of grass and the dim downward slope beyond, bobbing his head to the strains of bluesy American music seeping through the walls. It was one of Seonok's favorite records, imported (as many of her favorites were) from abroad. Her record collection was surprisingly large, and she loved adding to it. She preferred the blues and torch songs, French singers and doo wop groups, with her eclectic music taste just one more thing that made her a cosmopolitan curiosity among their peers.

He was smiling fondly to himself, thinking about what a wonderfully unique woman she was, wondering exactly what word to hang on what they had actually done in autumn, a couple of years back. Though he said they'd fallen in love to protect his own lie, it really wasn't that. They loved each other, but there hadn't been a fall. They'd discovered each other, been pulled into the same orbit by a gracious celestial plan. And yet the walls between them were high, when they retreated into their own secrets. There was comfort in those walls, and Youngjo could imagine neither scaling hers, nor turning his back on them. In a way, he hoped she felt the same. 

Maybe it was only the tipsiness sending his mind adrift on such emotional currents.

The volume of both music and conversation swelled at once, then quelled as the sliding door opened and closed. Feet shuffled beside him. He was no longer alone. 

"Too cloudy to see the moon tonight, I see," Seoho said. 

Youngjo looked over at him, and Seoho lifted his whiskey glass.

"Hello," he said with a familiar sing-song tone. 

Youngjo toasted in kind with his own whiskey glass, which he'd been nursing for some time. He felt shy, but not particularly taken by surprise. The company was welcome, and he figured they'd have to acknowledge one another at some point, so it was fair for it to happen while his brain was slightly adrift on the influence of liquor. "Hi." 

"I wondered where you'd gotten off to. I've been keeping tabs on you all night. I hope that doesn't seem weird." 

"No. I've been doing the same, in my own way." There was more to that statement, not a bit of which he felt capable of articulating in his current state. "I really wish I could lock this door from the outside right now." 

"Well," Seoho sighed. "For what it's worth, only about six people are left in there, and two of them are waiting for a taxi to get here. That's six people sesides Seonok and Hwanwoong, of course. And they're absolutely engrossed in each other." 

"Is that so?" Youngjo was pleasantly amused. 

"Seonok's telling him about her trips to France, so Hwanwoong's asking about the ballet there. Telling her stories about his dance career like he did it for more than four years. It's cute. They're cute." Seoho paused to drink, and Youngjo just watched him. He didn't want to say anything; the inability to articulate himself stretched on and around the moments. 

Finally, Seoho went on as he stared out at the distant light twinkling faintly on the river. "Seonok invited us to stay longer. Hwanwoong and I, separate from the other guests. To wind down, listen to music, talk some more. I wanted to run that by you before we consider it. Would it be too awkward?"

His heart mildly warmed by the fact that Seoho thought to consult him on the matter, Youngjo grunted in brief contemplation. "That's fine. Please stay. That would be nice, in fact." 

"Okay." 

Seized by the seasick feeling of remembering all he'd put on the table with his song, Youngjo hid himself briefly in the smell of whiskey and the welcome chill of the early autumn breeze. He shuffled his toes closer to the edge of the porch, and tried not to think too much about the distance between them, and the fact that he couldn't close it. Even though he knew very well that the porch was invisible from anywhere else in the house, the darkness and the closed door and the preoccupied wife only adding to that security, his main fear was that he wouldn't want to let go. A normal Youngjo wouldn't, and a drunken Youngjo was even more liable to be stubborn. 

"I'm glad you showed up tonight," he said, if only just to break the silence and provide a distraction from his own mounting whims.

"Yeah. It was fun. I had fun." Seoho's voice was silky, and low, and his mouth probably tasted of whiskey, so the distraction did not work.

It was shocking, how suddenly his heart ached as Seoho turned around, moving toward the door. He didn't want him to go, he realized. Every moment together, away from the crowd, had been invigorating in a way he didn't anticipate for all his earlier nerves and vulnerability. 

But then Seoho paused, and out of his periphery Youngjo saw him return to the edge of the porch, standing closer this time. The silence they shared was companionable but charged, and when Seoho spoke it was in a halting, private tone. He seemed unsure whether he was allowed to say the words. "Um. The song was good." 

"Thank you," Youngjo said, nodding compulsively several times in a row. "I always meant to play it for you, sometime when you were over. But it felt too embarrassing."

He was somewhat aware of Seoho's feet shuffling even closer as he replied. "It is, I suppose. A little. But only for us." 

"Keep your voice down," Youngjo said quickly, his nerves getting the better of him again. 

Just as quickly, Seoho replied with a biting tone. "There's no one else out here." He looked directly at Youngjo, who just kept staring into his glass. The tension was in dire need of breaking, until Seoho finally did just that, saying at a moderate volume: "Is anyone else out here? Show yourselves!" 

Nothing. The wind rustled through the taller grass near the hillside, and a song by the Kim Sisters began playing inside the house. Youngjo thought he heard Seonok laughing loudly, but it might have been his imagination. Seoho hovered near enough that Youngjo could smell him - pressed wool, familiar sweat, and beneath that a cologne. Had he made an extra effort for the sake of the special occasion? The possibility sent his mind reeling again, and the closeness sent his pulse racing. 

Without a word, Seoho shifted away, and turned back to the door. An invitation, or a taunt, or whatever it was, had gone unanswered for the small amount of trouble it had been. 

Before he could move away completely, Youngjo's heartbeat flew into his throat again, and he reached out for whatever he could grab. At first it was Seoho's arm, and the soft, warm fabric of his suit jacket. At this, Seoho stopped, and wheeled back around. But Youngjo grappled past that, and his fingers clutched at the slippery silk of the tie around Seoho's neck. 

He yanked him forward, and Seoho nearly toppled into him. The glass fell from his hand, and into the grass just below the porch, a few last drops of whiskey spilling along with it. Youngjo met Seoho's stumble dependably, righting him just as immediately as he sought out his mouth and kissed it. Quickly, possessively, with a crushing force that drew an unbidden moan from Seoho that he wouldn't have heard at anything but the closest proximity. 

They moved apart again so rapidly, it was as if the frames were dropped from the next few moments, two separate shots cut together sloppily in an attempt to trick the eye. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all, despite the taste in their mouths and the heat that surged in them both at the glimmer of what might be if they weren't in polite company that evening. 

Though Seoho stood apart from him, smoothing out his necktie and edging away as if to curb his own temptation, he whispered: "That wasn't fair."

A sense of accomplishment rushed in and swelled Youngjo's ego, eager to supplant the vulnerability that had made him feel so emotionally naked earlier. More than that, he was aware of having flustered Seoho, even a little bit. The observation made him feel more powerful than he expected. After all, he'd been insufferably affable all evening, and deserved even a bit of flustering. 

Youngjo had managed to keep hold of his own glass, and he smirked to himself over the rim of it, waiting to take a sip before he reminded Seoho to, "Be good." 

Four hours into the party, and it was only technically still a party. The house was in the usual state of disarray that came from any large gathering, and so were its occupants. In the living room, one side of a record faded to its conclusion, scratches and pops echoing through the speakers in quick refrain until the needle hit dead wax. Four people, divested of their shoes and most of their formality, listened to the soft mechanical whirr as the tonearm returned to its home. 

Seonok, lounging on her back across one half of the sofa, asked in a sleepy, gravelly voice, "Should I turn it over?" 

Youngjo, playing with Seonok's hair where it spilled over his lap, replied, "Wasn't that side two, anyway?" 

Sitting on the floor with his back to the sofa, his head angled against one of Youngjo's knees, Hwanwoong laughed. "Are we all too tired to even keep talking? Or was the song that good?"

Across from them, poured into the chair nearest the record player and no longer wearing his suit jacket, Seoho examined the back of a different record sleeve. "I'm not tired," he said. "I'll put something else on." 

"Oh! Make it something upbeat," Seonok said, sitting up halfway and carding her own fingers through her hair. In the process she found one more hairpin, and discarded it carelessly on a side table. "Maybe that will bring me back to life." 

Seoho was already dropping the next record on the platter. "Well, I hope this works. I've never heard it and I have no idea what it says. But the cover was cute." 

"Ah," she said immediately as the album started, and clapped her hands. "Francoise Hardy. This is one of my favorites. Good choice." She swayed her head to the melody for a few seconds, and hummed along. "I can't believe I didn't play this during the party." 

"The music selection was very good, though," Hwanwoong pointed out, craning his neck back to look upside-down at her from the floor. "You did a great job." 

"I suppose." Seonok pouted a little, and it was obvious that her energy was, in fact, returning. "Normally not many people dance at all, but this time at least some were. You, though," she reached out and pushed at the back of Hwanwoong's head playfully. "You were dancing practically the entire time. I'll need to invite you to every party if you're a mood-maker like that." 

Hwanwoong laughed and fell over onto the carpet, rolling onto his back to look up at Seonok and Youngjo. "It's because I'm shy, really." 

"You?" Seonok said with more incredulity than was probably necessary. 

"It's true," Youngjo intercepted the question. "He shuts up when there are a lot of people around. Good listener, though. Around Hwanwoong I can go on and on and on." 

"Yeah! I mean, I'm friendly, but that doesn't mean I like putting myself out there at parties. Having different conversations all night stresses me out, so I just dance. It feels good to dance, and it gives me an excuse not to talk all the time."

"That sounds useful," Seonok nodded in appreciation. "Unfortunately, I don't dance. Or else I'd start leveraging the same power." 

Hwanwoong sat up as if a spring had gone off benearth him. "Do you want to learn? I can teach you!" 

"No, no, no." She waved her hands, an almost fearful look crossing her face.

"She _refuses_ to dance, is more like it," Youngjo clarified. "As opposed to me. I do like to dance, but not alone."

"That's almost poetically tragic," Seoho spoke up, and Youngjo smirked over at him only for a moment. Seoho was also the sort who refused to dance on principle, Youngjo remembered.

"Yeah, you might have noticed I didn't dance for the entire party."

"I had." Of course he had.

"Well," Hwanwoong said, slowly moving to his feet. He paused to dust off his trousers, and then held a hand out to Youngjo. "Now's your chance. Let's dance." 

Youngjo's first instinct, which he indulged thanks to the lowered state of his inhibitions, was to place his hand in Hwanwoong's without question. Across the room, Seoho's snicker reminded him of the company, and the stakes, but next to him his wife pushed gently at his shoulder with a happy "Yay!" that had him on his feet in no time. 

"Will you be leading?" Youngjo asked with a teasing grin. 

"Yes, because I know what I'm doing." Hwanwoong struck an indignant pose, drawing some laughter from the others. 

"Who says I don't know, also? I've danced! I can dance." He was feeling bold, and dangerously flirtatious as Hwanwoong stepped back to listen to the beat of the song more intently. 

"Seoho," Seonok called out. "Start the song over, Seoho. This song is perfect for dancing."

Moments later, the strains of "Tous les garçons et les filles" filled the room once again, from the top. 

"It's a foxtrot, I think. A foxtrot would be best," Hwanwoong said after a few moments of deliberation and and quick visualization in his mind. He crooked an eyebrow at Youngjo. "Do you know how to do a foxtrot?" 

"Very dimly." 

"Come here, then." 

He kept grinning - they both did, in fact - as Hwanwoong's hand nestled easily on his waist, guiding him backwards in socked feet around the living room over a short minute of instruction. Under his breath, Hwanwoong murmured the simple instructions: "Slow, slow, quick-quick," for both of them. 

They nearly collided with the coffee table once, which was quite a feat since it had been pushed far aside for the party. Laughter gripped them both at this, but Youngjo danced his way out of it, and they continued to glide along breezily. Smiling at one another, heads swaying gently, they looked into one another's eyes for a few seconds. 

He remembered to look away before the moment became awkward, once his tipsy brain caught up to what he was doing, When he did, he looked (as was becoming the trend for the night) directly at Seoho. 

Seoho was staring right back at him, wearing much the same expression he'd had while Youngjo sang at the piano. Flat, probing, somehow harsh. Youngjo didn't dare read too much into it, but his inebriated brain listened to his bewildered heart, and hoped that he detected a flourish of possessiveness this time.

It was a flustering moment, and if Hwanwoong's hand hadn't squeezed tighter on his waist, pulling him in the correct direction, he might have collided with the sofa. "Getting dizzy?" Hwanwoong snickered. 

"No," Youngjo said sarcastically, leaning unintentionally close to Hwanwoong's face as yet another over-correction. Hwanwoong leaned back with an over-dramatic grimace, and suddenly Seonok was the one who interrupted the scene. 

"You look jealous!" 

Youngjo stumbled, losing track of their steps, as he noticed she was pointing at Seoho. 

Seoho, who shot right back to say: "And you _don't_ , what's that about?" 

Luckily, the song was fading out, and Hwanwoong practically pushed Youngjo away to indicate that he was through with the amateur antics of his impromptu dance partner. Seonok only collapsed into the sofa cushion to answer Seoho's question, giggling madly and applauding the dance performance. She was drunk, and that was an indisputible fact, but she often didn't stay up so long after becoming that way. Youngjo felt the overwhelming urge to take care of her, to make sure she made it to bed safely. But another thought warmed his heart, confused his soul as he shoved back at Hwanwoong. 

If drunk Seonok had been able to notice a glimmer of emotion from Seoho, perhaps it wasn't an isolated incident. Maybe Seoho stared at him the same way he stared at Seoho, when he was unchecked and comfortable. Whether he was jealous, possessive, well… that was a matter for another time. Perhaps a letter. Youngjo's mind spun on the axis of words he wanted to commit to paper, even as he planted himself cross-legged on the floor next to Seoho. 

"If Seoho was jealous of Hwanwoong, I'll just seat myself here to try and make it better," he said boldly, hiding any true intentions in plain sight. 

"And if I was jealous of you?" 

Youngjo looked up to find Seoho staring right back down at him with a foxlike smile and half-moon eyes; beautiful, absolutely beautiful. He laughed at the taunt without covering his face or looking away. "First of all, I wouldn't believe it. Second: either way, it's tragic, isn't it?"

Seoho sighed as if both points weren't particularly salient, and Youngjo only laughed harder, because what else was he supposed to do with all the thoughts in his head at that moment? 

A quarter past midnight, all the pins had been brushed from Seonok's hair, and she was complaining about the scratchiness of her brassiere as she listened to another Francoise Hardy album, using Youngjo's thigh as a pillow. 

"Go to bed," Youngjo urged her. "You've been up forever." 

"I don't want it to end," she whined in reply, obviously conflicted. "It was such a good party. Well, that is, the party was good, but it was meeting your friends that was great. Being all together. With friends. It was different." 

"Well, I--" 

She barely registered that he was speaking, and went on, tossing her head on his lap to look up at him. "I feel like I saw something in you tonight that I don't often see. Maybe I'd never seen it before. I liked it." 

Puzzled, but not especially surprised at this, Youngjo smiled. "What was it?" 

"I don't know! I'll need to see it again." She reached up clumsily to stroke his hair, and like a finicky cat he shifted away from the unwieldy motion to grab her hand in mid-air and place a kiss on the back of her palm. 

"Okay." 

They didn't have mutual friends, he realized. It was a thing he'd contemplated before, but rarely confronted. Even at parties, as lavish and lively as they were, they kept to their own circles, and Seonok was often preoccupied with the performance of the entire affair rather than the genuine experience of being around those whose company she enjoyed. Tonight, enjoyment was keeping her awake even as she shifted uncomfortably in her pink designer dress and constricting undergarments. 

At last, after "one more song," and finally, "let's just finish this record," he convinced her to go to bed. He convinced them both to go to bed, really, and together they dragged their feet toward the hallway, ignoring the detritus all around them that would need to be cleaned up the next morning (or, the next afternoon, if previous experience foretold the future). 

Turning to the right, on the way to her bedroom, Seonok paused and took a deep breath. "Um," she seemed to brace herself, and asked in a voice far more timid than Youngjo was used to, "next time I might invite my friend, too. Is that okay?"

There was something behind those words, behind the choice of those particular words. The way she said "my friend," in the singular, struck him. Not in a lonely or pathetic way, but in a way that pushed the edges of a circle of understanding Youngjo was starting to doubt the security of. Not her only friend, but her _friend_. A sense of importance and unique distinction crowned the word. 

They stared at each other across the gulf of the hallway in the remnants of their partywear, and Youngjo's heart began to race again, briefly, inconveniently. 

"Soobin?" He asked, and she looked positively delighted that he remembered the name of her dearest friend. She nodded warmly. "Could she make it from Incheon?" 

"Seoho is from Busan and he made it, didn't he?" 

A striking reply, and one he could hardly refute. Nodding, he smiled. "Yes, that he absolutely did, much to my surprise. Of course you can invite her. I'd love to finally meet her. We don't even need a party for the studio to do that. Let's have a dinner party later, maybe next month. Maybe for Chuseok, after we visit my family, we'll invite our friends over. I'll invite Hwanwoong and Seoho, you can invite Soobin. If she'd appreciate that. I know she might have plans for the holiday, and-- what's wrong?"

Leaning against the wall, Seonok had begun to cry. As if she still had the public to consider, she dabbed underneath her eyes with only the pads of her fingers, careful not to disrupt her makeup. 

It had been a nice reprieve, for Youngjo's heart to not be racing for a few seconds, but it broke into a sprint again at this. Fear seized him again, and he realized how much it hurt him to see her cry, no matter the cause.

A moment later, then, she began to laugh uncontrollably, and practically yelled: "I have no idea why I'm crying right now! Oh my god! I can't believe it!" The laughter continued, her shoulders shaking as she covered her face. a gesture that could have easily been misread as sobs from someone on the outside looking in. "I'm sorry!" She lifted her head to cry happily. 

Youngjo began to laugh, as well, and thought of nothing more fitting to do than close the space between them. 

Pulling her close as the tremors of her laughter subsided, he kissed her on the forehead. 

"Are you happy?" He asked, and she nodded with tears still shining in her gaze. The kohl around her eyes was smudged only the slightest bit. 

"More than I ever thought I'd be, yes." 

"You're also drunk."

"Happiness is better when you're drunk."

"Go to bed, pretty girl," he said fondly, as he'd said it many nights before.

"Go to bed, pretty boy," she replied sweetly, as she always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (whispers) Harold, she's


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic isn't dead, I assure you. I had a rough late autumn, and had to take a break from most things as a result, but I'm back and ready to continue this. Thanks to anyone who's still reading - I appreciate you!
> 
> This chapter is basically Usher - U Got It Bad.mp3
> 
> This chapter also veers significantly into a Hwanwoong/Youngjo detour that will resurface, but 1. the main ship of this fic is absolutely not challenged, this is merely a detour, and 2. Seoho planted that damned seed in his head anyway.

The night of the kickoff party (which was technically the very early morning after the kickoff party), Seoho turned on one toe in the doorway and waved goodbye, losing his balance slightly as he followed Hwanwoong up the drive to meet their taxi. "Yeah!" He'd said, laughing in response to Youngjo's equally tipsy entreaty that he be careful. 

It was the last word he would hear from Seoho in months. Spoken, written, or implied by a probing look. Not that Youngjo could have explained it to anyone, but the silence felt more like an intentional one this time. 

_The Changing Face_ premiered to critical acclaim, with the prevailing rumor that it would be shown at next year's Berlin International Film Festival. In its wake, Monarch Studios pushed an even more extravagant budget behind _The Gentleman in Spring_ , starting the media buzz before post-production had even wrapped. Scripts for more melodramas were picked up. A war epic in pre-production was cancelled. By autumn of 1964, Monarch Studios began to chart its own course into richer waters, with Kim Youngjo one of its figureheads.

Stunt work was sparse at the studio, and pickings were slim even for those who contracted on site. 

Seonok asked after him three times before Youngjo actually elaborated on the fact that no, he hadn't heard from Seoho recently. Sunnily, but also a bit chastisingly, she asked whether Youngjo had tried picking up a telephone. 

"I'm not fond of the telephone," he danced around the truth, stretching uncomfortably at the table and trying to take up more physical space as his resolve was shrinking. A few months earlier, he may have been able to lie and say that Seoho didn't have a telephone. Hwanwoong had spoiled that lie. He was talented at doing that.

"You call your mother regularly. _You_ bought her the telephone so you could stay in touch." 

He ran out of little white lies to tell, and stared at her dispassionately for a moment before squirming his way into a half-truth. "It feels odd, to call a friend. Nothing really feels important enough to call about."

"But I call--" She paused, realized herself, and nodded. She was on the phone with Soobin often, now more than ever. The party, and their conversations throughout, seemed to have loosed her inhibitions to exhibit such enthusiasm over that particular relationship. "Keeping in touch with friends is important. There doesn't need to be an event, you know. If this is something about male friendships I don't understand, that's fine. But it does feel sad. You seem a little sad." 

That was a word for it, though there were many others. Confused, betrayed, a bit lonely, and above all else silly for feeling so strongly about it. Every evening he walked out to the parking lot, and he expected Seoho to be waiting for him. He expected to get the relief of one punch to his arm, and a sharp word, before welcoming him back entirely, feeling the peculiar way he acquiesced bonelessly into an embrace once he realized the embrace was inevitable. 

Youngjo wrote two more letters, though he'd already written three without answer. The most recent letter was a simple one: the words "I miss you." on a paper folded twice. It made him a little sick, wondering whether he spent that emotional energy on one more letter in vain, but moreover knowing he would spend even more willingly, just for the chance.

He picked up the telephone finally in early September, and dialed the number he never had before. 

There was no answer. He was not surprised, but the gradual way his heart dropped further from his throat after every ring was ceremoniously gutting nonetheless. Polite, in a way. A much more pointed answer than the draining coda of silence, of absence stretched over days and weeks.

The entirety of _The Gentleman in Spring_ was in the can before Youngjo walked to his car and didn't think of Seoho at all. 

"Park Hangyeol saw Seoho in Seoul last week." Hwanwoong mentioned over the commissary table. Youngjo perked up immediately before making a conscious effort to curb his enthusiasm at the news. Given a few more seconds, it turned into bitterness on its own. He hated the feeling.

"What did he say?" He asked, trying to sound only half-interested, mostly for the benefit of the others at the table.

"They didn't talk. Apparently they crossed paths and recognized each other in the agency lobby, but didn't linger." 

"Well, he's alive, at least," Youngjo mused down at his dinner. 

"That guy?" Geonhak spoke up between them, turning his head from one to the other. "I haven't seen him for a few months now. What happened to him?" 

Youngjo shrugged as Hwanwoong answered: "No one's quite sure. He just disappeared."

"Maybe if this studio wasn't in the middle of nowhere…" Geonhak muttered before continuing to eat.

"That's unfair," Dongju chimed in acerbicly. "We're very central, aren't we? We could be like that one studio in Gangwon, what's it called?" He waved his chopsticks at Geonhak across the table, speaking around bites of food. "The one you used to work at." 

"JGY," Geonhak answered roughly but agreeably, nodding where he might have begun to argue with anyone else. "I don't know how anyone is happy to work there." 

"They do a lot of location shoots in the mountains, don't they?" Hwanwoong interjected. "Wilderness movies, war movies. I couldn't imagine working on location in the winter there." 

They continued the conversation as easily as that, sliding into the next topic as if Seoho had simply been a connecting thread. It was a thread Youngjo kept around his finger, though, and brought up as he walked alongside Hwanwoong back to his dorm. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you." 

"That's a tone you don't often use," Hwanwoong replied with cautious amusement. 

After checking quickly to make sure they were alone, Youngjo turned to face him. "Did you sleep with him? That night? Or any other, really, but I can't stop wondering whether you did that night." 

Hwanwoong allowed the question to find purchase in his brain fully before letting out a quick sigh. 

"I won't be mad." 

"I know you'll act like you aren't." A few seconds and a shake of his head later, Hwanwoong admitted: "I tried."

Youngjo waited for him to continue, watching as Hwanwoong's eyes also scanned the area for any passersby. 

He explained, a bit hurriedly. "After the party we went back to the hotel room he'd gotten for the night, and I said I didn't really want to show up at the dorms drunk and risk being scolded. So we slept together, yes, in the strictest sense, but he turned me down when I tried to do anything else. 'I'd rather not' were his exact words, if I recall correctly." 

"I see." It was cold comfort. "Three months ago I'd think that meant he cared about me." 

At this, Hwanwoong was wisely silent.

By mid-September, the inflection point he was dreading reared its head in unavoidable fashion. "My father is adamant about us coming over on Friday. I told him that's fine, but he'll still need to make an appearance for Chuseok proper or else it would be rude." Seonok collapsed into the green chaise with a heavy sigh, before realizing she'd fallen in quite an uncomfortable position just to make a dramatic point. As she grunted and re-adjusted herself, she went on. "So the party may need to be either tomorrow, or next weekend."

Youngjo's fingers hovered over the piano keys as he stared ahead, his periphery taking in the full scene though he didn't quite want to make eye contact. 

She went on. "Soobin can make it either way, of course. Her family's all in Incheon, so she doesn't have to do much traveling over the weekend. If she came down here she could turn right around and drive back the next day. I don't think they have plans for Friday. Oh, no... I'm sure she told me they didn't, but now I'm second-guessing myself…" 

She trailed off when she noticed that Youngjo wasn't really reacting, sitting stockstill at the piano with a subtle expression of apology dancing across his face. 

"You do still want to have the party, don't you? Just for our close friends?" She grabbed a small pillow embroidered by Youngjo's sister, and hugged it to her chest. "Do you remember?" 

"Of course," he answered gently, eager to dash the accusation but reluctant to explain just how much he remembered, and how much it had been tying knots in his stomach for weeks. "I remember."

"What's the matter?" 

"Chuseok just came up so fast. I'd not even been thinking about it, really. I don't know that I'm ready. I don't think Seoho could make it, either." The bile rose in his throat along with this partciular half-truth, but he stuck with it as the words spilled over his lips. "I'm sorry. It slipped my mind. He's very busy."

Seonok nodded slowly but didn't take her eyes off him, trying to ascertain the direction those emotions were coming from, and just what they were. "I'm glad you've heard from him." 

He knew the best way to avoid the discussion without lying. Not directly lying, at least. "I would rather we postponed the party. Maybe something in October, or even November." 

Her nod slowed even more, and she looked down at the carpet, still clutching the pillow. It didn't hide the swell of a deep breath that filled her chest as she swallowed back her disappointment. "I understand." 

"I'm sorry." 

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. I understand." 

He couldn't bring himself to probe just what she meant by that, to discover whether she truly did understand. 

"Soobin is very excited to meet you, is all." 

"She will. I'm looking forward to it, as well. Just a little longer."

Whether or not she should have looked forward to meeting him as he currently was, that was a subject he could barely manage to turn around in his own mind. Youngjo wasn't the type to feel so laid low, hung out to dry. His wife's closest friend (possibly more) did not deserve to meet him as anything less than his usual gregarious self, and it certainly wouldn't be fair for him to view her through any lens even possibly resembling jealousy. 

How desperately he wanted a recent memory of Seoho's voice in his mind to quell that anxious feeling. 

Later that night, after Seonok had gone to bed, Youngjo carried the telephone into the bedroom and shut the door, allowing his heart to buy into the possibility that there might be a conversation worth muffling. 

Three times, he dialed Seoho's number, and three times he let it ring. His emotions rose, as did his vitriol over the situation. For the first time he started to consider that he was owed an answer, a word, an acknowledgement at the very least. He prepared to allow his voice to rise.

The fourth time, the line did not connect. Either the phone had been left off the hook, or the plug had been pulled. 

Even though Seoho could not possibly have known it was him, not with absolute certainty, Youngjo felt it to be an acknowledgement. 

He followed the cord back out the door and to the living room where they'd all talked together just a couple of months ago, and replaced the telephone in not quite its proper place. 

\-- 

Hwanwoong enjoyed running lines as a leading lady. Or rather, at the risk of assuming too much, Youngjo knew only that he enjoyed running lines as _his_ leading lady. He never oversold the performance, and he always took the roles very seriously. It helped, he noted more than once, that Youngjo tended to be cast in pictures with compelling female characters. It made sense, then, that Youngjo's star was rising especially with the nation's female audience. Hwanwoong was perpetually eager to channel his inner ingenue for the evening until one of them inevitably broke the melodramatic mood and the evening turned to drinking and conversation.

Their topics of discussion had grown deeper as the months wore on, beyond the shallow surface of gossip and business drama into what they both considered less easily exhaustible subjects. Above all else, Youngjo was grateful for someone who appreciated things on the aesthetic and critical levels he did. They would dissect the films of their own studio scene by scene, at times, or listen to a record and barely get through a song before pausing to discuss some chord progression or lyrical turn of phrase, forcing them to then start the song over again. They were insufferably chatty when left to their own devices, and Youngjo knew it, but nevertheless, even after all the time spent in Hwanwoong's company, something was missing.

He wanted to call it a deep, abiding desire to please. There was a quiet confidence in Hwanwoong that presumed nothing of those around him, and he seemed to attend to every conversation or interaction like a person who knew his presence was valuable, appreciated. It's not that Youngjo didn't also know his worth, but it ached in a cold way, to be bereft of the motivation to make someone else feel welcome, open, himself. 

Hwanwoong had taken a liking to visiting Youngjo's house, when he cared to make the effort, and that was usually where they practiced together. Seonok, when available, stood in for the incidental or side characters with great enthusiasm. But some nights, such as that one, Seonok wasn't around.

"Your sister was here not long ago, wasn't she?" Youngjo asked, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his script as he rounded the side table to move behind the sofa where Hwanwoong sat primly.

"She came by, yes." Still trying to find the most appropriate voice for the character, even temporarily, Hwanwoong glanced over his shoulder anxiously. "She usually visits me in the evenings, though." 

"I didn't ask what time she usually visits."

"I just thought you'd wonder why she was here so early, is all."

Youngjo didn't let the pause extend too long - not nearly as long as it would probably extend in the picture itself, with a lingering shot of the actress fidgeting restlessly, trying to resist glancing over her shoulder to keep an eye on Youngjo's character.

"Why are you acting so nervous? You don't need to be nervous around me. I'm not a detective. And I'm certainly not your father."

"I know," he answered quickly, and during the short pause that followed he mimed tucking a strand of long hair behind one ear. "I'm grateful you're here, I'm just--"

"Scared of me?" Youngjo leaned closer over the back of the sofa, and laughed with satisfaction when Hwanwoong jumped away just as his nerve-wracked character would.

"Yes! If you must know, yes!"

"But you're laughing." Youngjo read the line even though Hwanwoong hadn't remembered to titter with laughter during his response. "I'm not scary. It's the idea of me that's scary. Your father hired me to look after you, and I'm going to do that. I promise. You have no reason to be scared of that idea of me, whatever line he sold you. He sells people a lot of things." 

He paused. He reached out, and mimicked closing the blinds. In the film, the scene would cut to show the people spying on them from across the street, but the honorable gangster he played would not let her know about such a thing. 

"I'd like to know," he went on, "what sort of monsters you've made up in that pretty head of yours, about me."

He finishing circling the sofa fully, and took a seat near Hwanwoong, who did read far enough into the blocking notes to shift away from him. Only just slightly, though. 

"My father trusts you." 

"I've worked for him since I was a boy." 

"Should he…" Hwanwoong looked up from the script in his lap, and his breath hitched momentarily to find Youngjo staring right at him. Imagining a camera capturing his every flicker of expression in close-up, he swallowed thickly and held the stare just a second longer than was prudent. His head tilted slightly, and he fixed Youngjo with a sideways stare before tucking the same strand of hair behind his ear - or at least pretending to do so. It was a tic he'd given the character that Youngjo would probably be disappointed not to see his actual co-star adopt. "Should he trust you?" 

He knew his angles; the way he held his head so the sharp, handsome line of his jaw was on full display. He knew how to look alluring. And he wasn't just doing it for an imaginary camera, this time. 

"With you?" Youngjo leaned closer and lowered his voice, pulsing his eyebrows. 

Hwanwoong nodded, not drawing away and even rising ever-so-slightly to the inevitable kiss. 

Youngjo caught him in that imperceptible arch, practicing his timing on what he hoped would be the barest smirk caught by the camera before his lips met his leading lady's. It was not the first time the two of them had kissed, not even in character. They exchanged companionable pecks on the lips from time to time, away from prying eyes, and tended to save the more lingering kisses for auspicious rehearsals. It was an excuse where they both knew they didn't truly need one. Nevertheless, Youngjo had remained chaste. Faithful, he would have called it a few weeks ago.

Reacting with all due shock afforded his character in that moment, channeling a woman who gave into temptation only to immediately regret revealing her feelings, Hwanwoong drew away with a gasp and began to speak the next line. "You don't want to know what m--" 

Both of Youngjo's hands reached out, gently interrupting him. One hand on the back of his neck, he pulled Hwanwoong in to resume the kiss he'd broken away from. Before Hwanwoong could check the script to make sure he hadn't misread the scene, Youngjo's other hand found the pages and pulled them away. 

The script tumbled to the floor with a soft, shuffling sound. This wasn't anywhere on those pages, anyway,

Stunned as their lips met again, casual and deliberate for the first time, Hwanwoong nonetheless tensed. He was prepared for this, as something he'd looked forward to for weeks on end, but he also didn't want to move until he was completely sure of Youngjo's intent. 

Youngjo pulled him strongly across the small space that separated them, opening his mouth on Hwanwoong's just in time to swallow an indistinct gasp from the other man. He thought of all those times Hwanwoong had teased him for seeming so passive and mild despite the storminess of his onscreen personae, and reached up to clutch the back of his head, as well. 

Processing the situation took all of a second or two, and by the time Hwanwoong fully grasped that he was being handled with greedy intent, Youngjo had practically pulled him into his lap.

Throwing his arms around Youngjo's broad back, refusing to break the kiss even as he manuevered into a more graceful position, Hwanwoong allowed his mind to wander to what might finally be happening. He'd been prepared for it, considering their mounting flirtation, but the pragmatic side of him refused to believe it would ever really happen. 

"Yes," he whispered between their lips, dragging his nails across Youngjo's shoulder blades, fitting their hips together as he straddled his thighs. 

Hwanwoong was agreeable and warm, enthusiastic and eager. And yet as they continued to kiss, Youngjo found his mind wandering to other memories, setting up comparisons he tried to chase away. This beautiful man in his arms, on his lips, was someone he knew, someone he trusted well enough. But he smelled different. He tasted different. He felt more delicate, and gave more immediately to Youngjo's subtle direction than Seoho ever did. Desire had stalked them both for weeks on end, and had finally overwhelmed the space they shared, but Youngjo still couldn't run from the specter of what he missed the most. 

He countered the invasion of his subconscious by snaking his hands lower to squeeze Hwanwoong's ass. He was smaller, he was softer. The groan he let out was self-aware, a bit performative. Everything about him was a bit performative, and it drew Youngjo in, made him want to observe and protect. 

Thoughts wouldn't stop racing as Hwanwoong began to pluck open the buttons of his shirt. If he hadn't said something, Youngjo would have blurted out some inanity just to staunch the flood in his own brain. 

"I hope I've made it abundantly clear," he said, tracing a finger down Youngjo's chest, "how much I've wanted this."

Confident. Present. Passionate. But the quiet was missing, the immaterial penetration. Hwanwoong didn't know how to read the look of thoughts racing too-fast behind Youngjo's eyes. He didn't know to stop the way Seoho might have, to just sit there in companionable silence and stare at one another for minutes on end, saying everything wordlessly until that look ebbed. 

"Wanted what?"

A smirk. "You'll make me say it? That's cute." Their lips dallied together again, and Hwanwoong reached down to pull his own shirt free of his waistband. 

"So say it. What's the plan?" 

With those words, Hwanwoong realized how fully the mood had shifted a few moments prior. He still couldn't perceive the different shimmers in Youngjo's eyes, but the flip tremor of his voice was enough. His hands stilled, stopped their busywork, and he allowed the proceedings to center once again on their joined lips, where it felt warm and slick and comfortable. Their eyes slipped shut, and the question hung in the air unanswered for nearly a minute. Separately, they both wished they could simply run things back a bit, grab hold of each other and pause before they'd stumbled into something they weren't prepared for. 

Finally, Hwanwoong opened his eyes again, and so did Youngjo.

"I just thought… that is… if you wanted we could…" 

Youngjo shook his head. Gently: "We're not having sex tonight." 

An awkward moment passed, then settled, then seemed to repeat itself. Hwanwoong's eyes drifted askance, settling on the curtains. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry." 

"Don't be." At this, Youngjo smiled, and remembered his hands were still on Hwanwoong's body. He moved them affably, in what he hoped was a comforting, welcoming way. "I kind of wish I could. I mean, look at you."

Hwanwoong gave the barest, self-satisfied chuckle at that. Youngjo echoed him, his own laugh more audible. "I thought it would make you feel better," he sounded almost ashamed, or as close to it as Youngjo imagined he could sound. "And who am I kidding, I really wanted to." 

"I just don't think I'm ready." 

Hwanwoong nodded, shifting slightly where he remained atop Youngjo's legs, unable to place any blame. The hand that had been making a break for his belt buckle fisted gently in his own shirt, unsure of where else to land. 

"I didn't say we had to stop kissing," Youngjo finally said, saucy but firm. 

And so they didn't. Long minutes passed, the moon rose higher, and two jazz records played to the wax as the knowledge of a boundary afforded them even more freedom to simply enjoy one another. Once nerves ebbed and a languid tranquility began to possess their kisses, Hwanwoong's lips slid to Youngjo's ear and he said, "I just want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy." 

In what he considered a spiteful action, Youngjo did not write to Seoho about the encounter. He held the details close to his heart as he tossed restlessly that night, trying to find a warm place in his heart where they could belong, willing them unsuccessfully to take the place of old memories.


End file.
